#wooly makes things move

[woolysstuff]

I did a silly

[timmydraker]

Tim had a jumper that doesn’t seem all that special, but to Alfred, Bruce and Dick is incredibly important. Dare they say vital to caring for Tim.

It’s a big wooly thing, once a pale mossy green but now with a hint of brown and white from fading and use. It’s too big for him to the point that the sleeves have to be bunched up when worn and even than they hang over his hands.

It looks like a dress on him, which isn’t help but his naturally slim build.

The jumper is held in such high regard because when Tim puts it on it means that he’s not feeling like he usually does.

His confidence, his snark, his wit, and his mental strength is either hard to reach or impossible.

Tim, in the only instance he actually talked about what was going on when he wasn’t wearing the jumper, said he felt both like a tiny little fish in a giant pond and like his skin was a sheet of paper.

Bruce talked to Dinah about it and said it was most likely a form of mental regression, but Tim refused for it to be called him being ‘little’ or anything that would remind him of being a kid again.

Because he doesn’t act like a kid, but maybe it’s not right to associate Tim Drake with a normal child behaviour pattern. He doesn’t babble or whine or want to watch kids shows like Dinah had suggest he might, but he does go non verbal or only say one or two words in response to pretty much anything.

He puts his jumper on and will just… sit there.

Tim is always moving or thinking, always doing, but when he gets in his ‘jumper state’ as Alfred calls it, he tends to slow down completely and just want to sit somewhere warm and feel the fluff of his carefully maintained jumper.

Sometimes, he seeks out warmth outside of heaters and fires and the sun.

It’s on one of those days when Tim stalks down to the Cave with his jumper on, hair messy over his head and hands held up to his chest in an almost shy manner.

Jason notices him first and simply raises an eyebrow in confusion while Damian scoffs, “What on earth are you wearing, Drake? That looks moldy-“

But Tim doesn’t even look at him, eyes on the floor as he goes over to Bruce at the computer and pokes the older man’s shoulder once before retracting his hand.

Bruce immediately turns and opens his arms, an almost heartbroken look on his face as he lets Tim drawl onto his lap and bury his face in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve got you. Anything in particular or just one of those days?”

Tim speaks in a voice like a husk that Damian and Jason only hear because they’ve come closer and sound travels in the cave, “Janet, birthday.”

Bruce Wayne, The Batman, The Caped Crusader, then fucking coos and kisses his head before rocking him slightly.

“That makes sense. Do you need someone here tonight? I can call Dick or stay myself if you need.”

The two other boys in the room look at each other, shocked to hear Bruce say he will give up a patrol to seemingly cuddle someone.

Tim shakes his head, “Alfred.”

Bruce nods, kissing his head again and saying, “Thank you for coming to me so I can help you. I’m so proud of you for not making yourself go through this alone again.”

It’s not exactly a whine that leaves Tim, but it’s not a word that is Bruce’s answer.

Jason comes forward and awkwardly scratches the back of his head, “I don’t really know what’s going on, but can I like… help or something?”

Bruce smiled as Tim nods against him after a few moments, the boy in his arms turning to reach a hand out for Jason and then strangely patting the hand Jason offers up for him.

Damian, not trying to be rude but needing to understand what is going on, clears his throat and demands, “Explain what is wrong with Drake.”

Luckily Bruce had gotten better at understanding how his son communicates and looks to Tim for permission before answering, “Sometimes Tim needs to… be free of responsibility and just feel like a person for a bit. He isn’t always up for talking and just wants to be around people he trust, and me, Dick and Alfred have managed to convince him to actually come to us when he needs that.”

Bruce smiles at where at where Tim is holding Jason’s hand and swinging it around a bit before feeling over the rough calluses and thick fingers with apparent joy.

Damian frowns a little at his father’s explanation but nods regardless, “Very well, we shall set up the family room for the evening before we head out for patrol.”

Bruce smiled and pulls Damian’s head over to kiss his hairline as he hears Jason mutter, “Weird little guy, aren’t ya?”

Tim hums and pinches his finger and smiling at his older brothers yelp.

[suiana]

imagine moving to australia and accidentally catching the attention of a yandere! australian.

you're tired, absolutely done with the weather and the weird lingo the aussies use. what is a woolies? what is with their obsession with football? and all of a sudden there's now this... random australian man obsessing over you??

the fact that you live away from the city is also a problem. hours away from everyone, little to no people you can contact in case of an emergency... well, that's more of a you problem than his problem. this works out perfectly for him.

"howzagauhn? yeah, nah yeah-"

"what."

you can't decipher his accent or the way he talks so you can only stare like 🙂 as your new neighbor introduces himself to you. yeah... you probably should've moved to the city instead of some suburb.

anyway he fell for you at first sight, heart eyes and all. you were the love of his life, the one he'd buy a house with despite being in the middle of a housing crisis and the stupidly hellish taxes. he would love it if you two went shopping together and maxed out his credit card, isn't that romantic?

eventually, the two of you start going out and you realize he isn't what he seems.

well, you knew he was always a bit weird. the way he'd shake life a leaf whenever you touched him was one reason why you suspected him to be a bit out of it. like damn, is he really that obsessed with you?

then you walked into his closet and oh my god. you just knew you had to leave. was that a shrine? wait, what your lost undies???

unfortunately for you, there was no way you were escaping. not when you had taken over his mind, not when he was already set on having you all for himself.

"right, where do you think you're going? tryna leave me are ya?"

"u-uh..."

(inspo by @moyazaika) you couldn't even step two feet out of his house before his pet spider scared you back into his arms. shit, you forgot he friended that weird spider thing.

be ready to get tortured for your disobedience 🥱💔 common torture methods include eating vegemite toast and watching him scream at the tv after his afl team lost a match. occasionally, he turns the heater off at night causing you to freeze in the poorly insulated home.

he tells you it's all for your own good. that he's doing this just to make sure you stay with him. but really, you think he's doing it because he's probably high on something. not wrong but he also really wants you to stay with him.

"now, you know not to run away, yeah?"

"...yeah."

yeah, you shouldn't have moved to australia.

[notjustjavierpena]

Happy Birthday, Joel

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Happy outbreak day— I mean, happy birthday to Joel Miller!

Summary: You have snuck out to have birthday-morning-sex with Joel. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, they are so in love, birthday sex, morning sex, Daddy kink, dry humping, orgasm denial, cowgirl, dirty talk, blowjob, come swallowing 

Word count: 2.9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59232835

Happy Birthday, Joel

A window in the bedroom has been cracked. The fresh autumn wind seeps into the room each time it blows over the house, changing the air to something that doesn’t smell like hazy sleep but forces Joel to be awake with you. None of you feel cold though because you are sitting comfortably in Joel’s lap on his wide bed. He has his back against the headboard and a dazed look on his face, bare-chested, beautiful, and propped up against a pillow because you have woken him up like this. 

His calloused hands are on your thighs that are on each side of his body, kneading the flesh gently while murmuring about nothing in the soft pitch that he only has saved for you. He talks quietly and groggily about the weather, the work he has to do on his porch come autumn, but mostly about how good you look on top of him right now, too good to be real, and makes you giggle when he jokes about this being a dream. 

You lean forward to let him feel the softness of the wooly fabric of your oversized sweater brush against his chest, resulting in it slipping off your shoulder. You threw it on just before you tiptoed out of the door, didn’t even bother with pants because you were going straight to the car that no one told you that you could borrow. The sleeves drape past your wrists, tickling his neck and cheek as you touch his jawline. 

“Happy birthday,” you say with an affectionate smile, scratching his scruffy beard with your fingertips. 

“You’re gonna get yourself into trouble, sweetheart,” his voice is laced with sleep, his hands moving slightly on your thighs as if he is deciding how to touch you. You have heat building in your belly, desire making its way through your veins. He chooses to reach up to grip the neck of your sweater, “Sneakin’ over here like this.”

“I’ll be kind enough not to ask how old you are now,” you add to earn a low chuckle, not wanting to entertain the disastrous what-ifs that roam around in his head. Joel yanks at the neck of the sweater, exposing your already bare shoulder even further. He connects his mouth to your impossibly soft skin there, his beard scratching you lightly as he trails his mouth up a path on your shoulder. He kisses every inch he can get to without undressing you fully. 

“Good girl,” he teases back at you, nosing along your neck with his voice vibrating against you, “Don’t needa remind me that I’m old.” 

“You’re not old. You’re perfect,” you cradle his head in your hands, threading your fingers through his salt-and-pepper curls and sighing towards the ceiling. He might think that this - you - is a bad idea but the way his lips feel on your body, the way he puts his whole being into touching you and kissing you like he is starving for you, tells you one thing: Joel Miller cannot stop wanting you. No matter the consequences, no matter the guilt, and no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise. 

“Joel,” his name falls from your mouth like a plea, breathless and light as you grip him tightly, “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

“You’re stealin’ my line,” he gives you one last kiss on the column of your neck and smiles up at you. His hands go down your body again, giving you time to suck in a deep breath. However, it’s doomed to not last and your breath hitches in your throat as he slips his palms up under your sweater. His warm fingers skim over the small of your back and up the curve of your spine.

When he lifts your sweater up and off your body, you do not protest even if you are completely bare underneath it. His gaze is on yours with adoration for a moment of not wavering once before he takes the opportunity to look down at your exposed chest. 

Your nipples have hardened at the slight chill, your arms squeezing your breasts together a little with how you still rest your hands on his neck and shoulders.  He places a palm just above your belly button and runs it up your body, skimming it over your breast to make you tremble in his arms. He lets his hand descend again, this time with a knuckle brushing over your nipple. You visibly shiver, chewing on your bottom lip as he worships you silently. 

“Is my doll cold?” He drawls, voice thick like honey, and your thoughts start to blur at the nickname. 

“No, Daddy,” you tell him and it’s the truth; you are burning from the inside out at how much your heartbeat is racing nowhere in your chest, having moved south long ago to soak your panties through to his boxers.

“By the way, you weren’t right,” he brushes your jaw when his free hand reaches for your chin to pull you towards his mouth. His thumb dances over your bottom lip, “I know exactly what I’m doin’ to ya, babygirl.”

You give the finger a gentle kiss, parting your lips to allow him to feel your tongue if he wants but when he doesn’t move, you slip out your tongue just a peek to teasingly lick his thumb as an imitation of how well you suck his cock. He smirks at that, letting his thumb go inside the heat of your mouth. He presses down on your tongue as if to test you, whispering how good you are for him as he does it. 

Underneath you, his cock has gone from half-soft to fully hard in mere seconds, pressing insistently against your core. He might think he is old but this part of him shows no proof of that. You dare move your hips back and forth once, dragging your wet underwear over the length of his erection. 

He groans alongside you but your sound is obscene in comparison, escaping around his digit in your mouth. The friction against your cunt is delicious, so much so that the fabric between your thighs has started to cling to you. 

“Give Daddy some sugar. It’s his birthday,” he commands with his hips bucking up, not being able to help how his body craves you first thing in the morning. His thumb slips from your mouth, dragging a string of spit down your chin in its wake. He curls both hands firmly around your waist again, pulling you flush against him so he can move you deliberately on his dick and watch your tits bounce. 

He guides you slowly over his thick length with ragged breathing, staring at the quick rise and fall of your chest when your clit gets the attention it desperately needs. You grip his shoulders and arch your back at the way pleasure rips through you, and though your cunt might feel empty, you feel everything start to build already just behind your clit. 

“That’s it, look at you, this my birthday present? Jeeesus, you look amazin’, look at those tits,” he praises breathlessly, throbbing against the damp fabric that separates the two of you. He dares grip your hips even harder, his fingers digging into the plump skin of your ass, and pull you down harder on him. 

Your moans grow in volume, your eyes fluttering closed as heat racks up your spine from the small of your back when tension starts to build. It pulls the coil tighter and tighter inside of you and causes you to whimper, the noise making Joel’s cock twitch underneath you. 

“Tell me, baby,” he groans and you dread the command that might come because you can’t think right now. One of his hands slips up your back to make sure you don’t fall off of him. Your clit is pulsing on the edge of release, knowing that it doesn’t need much more before you’ll explode, “Tell me when you’re ‘bout to come, okay?”

You hate him for it but still nod anyway, unable to speak for a moment, your breath only consisting of tiny gasps as you ride the edge of your impending orgasm. Still, with your eyes squeezed shut, you manage to speak just a few, barely incomprehensible words, “I’m gonna— I’m so close, Daddy.”

But before you can finish, before that final moment where your brain shuts off to feel your cunt spasm, Joel has halted your movements by holding your hips still. You whimper, trying to keep going because the pleasure is still there just out of reach, but his grip is unyielding and his disapproving tone is condescending. 

“Stop, not yet. We do it Daddy’s way on his birthday,” he commands and nearly ignores the tears forming at the corners of your eyes, “Not until I’m inside of ya, baby.”

You whine in response, knowing that he is right. It’ll be much better with him buried in your pussy but your mind is so clouded and delirious with the need for release that it is nearly painful how he is holding your orgasm hostage by gripping your hips like he is. 

“Please,” you say with a tear slipping from your eye.

“Don’t cry, baby, I’m goin’ to let go now,” he replies, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs and leaning up to peck your lips, “But I need ya to be patient. I can’t have my good girl act so bad just for her pussy to feel good.” 

His hands move swiftly to drag his boxers down, settling the waistband just beneath his balls to cut down on the time he’ll be without touching his special girl. The anticipation drives you crazy, a desperate moan leaving you as your hips start to twitch on their own accord. You let out a little moan, brows furrowed as you search for any type of friction. 

“Nooo, just a few more seconds, sweetheart,” he says and drags the word out in the same tone he would use with a puppy causing trouble. He digs his fingers underneath the front of your wet panties to pull them to the side, exposing your swollen pussy to the air in the room. You look down with him, watching how he positions the head of his cock between your folds. 

“Lift yourself up a little— that’s it,” he guides you, shuddering underneath you as you greedily sink down on his length. You should probably have gone slower, a feeble noise escaping your open mouth as you suddenly feel so full of him. There’s a mixture of relief and regret in you as it stings a little to have your soft walls stretched by him, the sensation enough for you to nearly drive you over the edge instantly. 

You exhale shakily, gripping around his cock tightly when you are seated in his lap. Your hands slide up to cup his cheeks, framing his face while you kiss him on the mouth after getting used to him inside of you. There’s only slight movement, a gasp here and there, a twitch of Joel’s cock inside of your wet cunt. 

You move a little to find that your clit brushes against his pelvis, and while capturing his mouth in a searing and desperate first proper kiss of today, you start moving your hips instinctively. Hearing the low, guttural moan that tumbles from Joel’s mouth in response is enough to spur you on. 

You feel his hands move up your back and around your front to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples while you ride him as if your life depended on it. He says your name in a half-chuckle and half-moan, tries urging you to slow down, but you are lost in the way he feels when he fucks you. 

“I love you,” he decides to say instead of something close to a scolding, pulling you out of your trance. You stare down into his eyes that are glazed over with desire, whimpering at the head of his cock brushing that little spot inside of you that has you hurtling towards your orgasm. 

“I love you too, Daddy,” you say softly, blinking down at him. He grabs your arms as they rest on his shoulders, pulling them from their place so he can entwine your fingers on both hands. 

“No-no, no Daddy,” he says with a ragged breath, glancing briefly down at where you are connected and angling his hips to make it easier for you to grind against him. Your moans climb in pitch and he places your hands on his chest, “Just Joel right now. C’mon, lemme hear you say it.”

“I love you, Joel,” you give him a hazy smile and rest your forehead against his.

“Good girl,” he whispers and then grabs your hips again. He starts to move beneath you, slow and steady in contrast to your youthful need of going hard and fast, his hips rolling smoothly and with no urgency. You struggle with it at first but he growls at you, holding you tighter than before and it feels like you might bruise if you disobey him. He guides you, controls you, steering you as you ride his leaking cock while your clit gets just the right amount of pressure. 

“Joel,” you gasp, starting a sentence but barely knowing where to go with it at the feel of him filling you up over and over.

“My perfect girl,” he replies. You make him groan when you drag your fingertips through the hairs on his chest, scratching desperately as the tension between your legs starts building again. 

It’s not long before you are teetering on the edge again, whining so loudly that people might be able to hear you through the window. Joel is right behind you, panting as the muscles of his strong thighs strain to make him pound up into you. 

You hold on for dear life, crying out his name as everything becomes too much, and your orgasm tears through you without mercy. Each ripple of pleasure has you feeling delirious, drunk on the feeling of getting pounded through the intoxicating spasms around his generous size and he fucks you all the way through your aftershocks. But even as it fades, he doesn’t stop moving in his quest for his own release, doesn’t want to stop before he has had his fill. He keeps the pleasure in your body burning as he continues spearing you repeatedly and it becomes hard for you to figure out where your orgasm begins or ends. 

You don’t know when you’ve started giggling in post-orgasmic bliss between feeble whimpers, bouncing in his lap as every nerve in your body is on fire, but you eventually start babbling ridiculously between gasps, “I can’t— Joel, I— Let me suck you off.”

Joel curses at your suggestion, his hips faltering for just a moment before he finds the willpower to stop his thrusts completely, “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

“I would never,” you say sweetly, making sure that your words drip from your lips like honey. You push down on his chest to slide off of him, a noise leaving you as his cock slips from your dripping, used pussy. You move shakily down between his legs, pulling the covers a little to the side to make room, “Especially not on Daddy’s birthday.”

You can see how close he is by the blush on his chest, how much he is holding back, and you decide not to waste any time. You wrap your hand around the base of his soaked cock and lower your head enough to place a wet kiss on the head, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck,” he groans when you take him fully into your mouth afterward, bobbing your head with a hum and hollowing your cheeks. He is a treat, tasting sweet of you and slightly bitter of his own precome, “That’s it, princess, you fuckin’ know how to suck Daddy’s cock.”

You moan around him as a way of confirming the truth of that statement. Then you hear his head bump against the wall, the picture above the bed moving from side to side, and suddenly, hands are in your hair to guide you up and down on his length. Your eyes flutter closed and you try to focus on the taste and feel of him on your tongue. Your hand moves to cup his balls, your mouth stretching around him and moving downward until he hits the back of your mouth. 

“I’m gonna come,” he pants, his lower belly jumping with each ragged breath. You prepare for the moment he lets go, opening your eyes again to look at his stunning face when he gives it to you. His hand tightens in your hair, “You want Daddy’s load, huh? Wanna— oh shit, you wanna swallow it up?”

You hum. With a deep, guttural groan of relief, Joel comes in your mouth and his hips twitch while he does it. He spills on your tongue in thick, hot, and salty ropes of white, throbbing obscenely while you swallow down what doesn’t mix with your spit and spills down your chin. 

You keep him in your mouth until he has stopped shuddering from his orgasm, eventually pulling off of him with a wet pop. You rest your head against his hip, staring up at him lovingly, “Happy birthday, Joel Miller.”

“You little minx,” he chuckles, running a hand over his hair as he tries to catch his breath, “You had that planned from the beginning, didn’t you?”

And maybe you did.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any notes on hair and hairstyles by any chance?

Writing Notes: Hairstyles

Some writing tips to describe your character's hair:

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Write detailed character descriptions. Visualize a character in your own mind. Make them three dimensional by fleshing out both the character’s personality and physical appearance. Write down their physical details like hairstyle and hair color—do they have brown hair, blond hair, or dark hair? Describe how they move through the world and hint at what their body language and mannerisms reveal.

Here are some words to help you select more precise language and improve the clarity in your writing:

Descriptive Words to Describe Hair

Hair Texture. Relates to the circumference of individual hairs as well as the curl pattern and general state of the hair, with regards to how it looks and feels.

body, bouncy, bristly, brittle, bushy, coarse, crinkly, delicate, downy, fine, flat, fluffy, frizzy, fuzzy, glossy, lank, limp, listless, luxuriant, luxurious, medium, nappy, no body, puffy, rough, satiny, silky, sleek, smooth, soft, sticky, stiff, straight, straw-like, supple, touchable, velvety, wavy, wiry

Hair Thickness. This means the same thing as hair density. There are a number of terms for how thick a person’s hair is.

lush, scraggly, sparse, stringy, thick, thin, voluminous, wispy, wooly

Hair Styles or Cuts. Properly describing how hair is cut or styled is critical in describing the appearance of a character in a story or the subject of a work of nonfiction.

afro, a-line, angled, asymmetrical, bangs, beehive, blunt, bob, bouffant, bowl cut, braided, braids, brushed back, bun, buzzed, center part, chignon, chopped, choppy, clipped, coils, comb over, corkscrew curls, cornrows, crew cut, curled, dreadlocks, ducktail, emo, extensions, face-framing, feathered, fishtail braid, flat top, flyaway, french braids, french twist, fringe, Jheri curl, kinked, layered, long layers, loose, military cut, mohawk, mullet, natural, pageboy, parted, pigtails, pin curls, pixie, plaited, pompadour, ponytail, Rasta, rat tail, ratted, ringlets, shag, shaved, side part, slicked down, spiked, spiky, spirals, springy, stacked, straightened, swept back, swept to the side, swept up, teased, topknot, trimmed, twisted, undercut, up, updo, waterfall braids, weave, wedge, wings, wrapped

Hair Length. Hair can vary greatly in length. Choosing the right descriptive word for hair length helps readers get a better picture of the character or person about whom you are writing.

cascading, chin length, close cropped, cropped, ear length, flowing, long, medium length, mid-back length, neck length, short, shoulder length, tailbone length, trailing, waist length

Hair Color or Tints. Since there are many hair colors in different tones, some natural and some not, it’s really important to choose the right descriptive word for hair color.

ash brown, auburn, black, bleached blond, blonde, blue, bluish, bottle blonde, brown, brunette, burgundy, burnished, chestnut, coppery, dark, flaxen, ginger, golden blonde, gray, green, honey, jet black, light, mousy, multi-colored, natural blonde, oil slick, ombre, peroxide blonde, pink, platinum, purple, rainbow, raven, red, salt and pepper, silver, strawberry blonde, streaked, sun-kissed, sun-streaked, wheat blonde, white, yellow, yellowing

Treated Hair. There are a number of treatments people can use to alter the appearance of their hair.

bleached, body wave, brassy, colored, conditioned, deep conditioned, dyed,frosted, highlighted, highlights, lowlights, permed, relaxed, smoothing, tinted

Messy Hair. There are a number of ways to convey to readers that a person has messy hair. Whether the individual’s hair is messy due to a lack of care, general unruliness, or having been engaged in activity that caused it to become messy, choose the right word so readers will understand.

bad hair day, bedhead, clumpy, disarray, disheveled, drooping, knotted, matted, overgrown, shaggy, snarled, tangled, tousled, towheaded, uncombed, uncontrollable, unkempt, unmanageable, unruly, unstyled, untamed, untidy, windblown, windswept

Neatly Styled Hair. Some people take great pains to ensure their hair is the exact opposite of messy. Use these terms when you want to describe someone with neatly styled hair.

blown out, coiffed, coiffured, done, neat, runway-ready, tamed, tidy, well-groomed

More Ways to Describe the Appearance of Hair. The categories listed above aren’t all inclusive when it comes to describing hair.

beautiful, brushed, classy, clean, combed, damp, dirty, dripping, dull, elegant, enviable, fashionable, filthy, gorgeous, greasy, healthy, luscious, lustrous, nourished, shiny, singed, slick, soaked, squeaky clean, stylish, sweaty, trendy, vibrant, voluminous, wet

Words to Describe Hair Problems. There are a number of different hair problems. If the person or character you are writing about has a visible issue with his or her hair, be sure to choose the best word to describe it.

alopecia, bald, balding, bald patch, broken, damaged, dandruff, dry, flaky, fried, hair loss, lice, needs a touch-up, nits, oily, overly processed, pattern baldness, receding, roots are showing, shedding, split ends, thinning, thin on top, widow’s peak

Hair Accessories. Thoroughly describing a person or character’s appearance may require giving some information about hair accessories the person is wearing. Choose the best term to describe any items placed in or on the individual’s hair.

ball cap, barrette, beret, bobby pin, bow, butterfly clip, chopsticks, elastic, feather, flower, hair clip, hairpin, hat, headband, headscarf, kerchief, ribbon, scarf, scrunchie, side comb, snap clip, sweatband, tiara, tieback

Names of Hair Tools. When you need to describe what someone uses to style their hair, be sure to accurately describe the type of tool the individual uses.

blow dryer, clippers, comb, curling iron, diffuser, dryer, duckbill clips, fine-tooth comb, flat iron, hairbrush, hot rollers, rollers, round brush, scissors, thinning shears

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Facial Hair

Hope this helps with your writing!

[brummiereader]

Binding Love (Part Two/Dark!Tommy)

Summary: After a morning of relentless mulling over your fractured marriage and place in the world, you make a quick dash out the front door before Tommy learns of your plans for the day. But when your daughter's inquisitive mind reveals your intentions, Tommy's paranoia turns its ugly head.

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, psychological abuse, mutual pining, angst.

Word Count: 3.5K

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

" Thank you, Frances" you smiled to your housekeeper in the mirror of your vanity, fingers cradling the cold mug of ginger tea cupped within your hands, you hoped would help you sleep the night before as she finished placing the last of the spindly wired pins in your hair.

" Mam" she laid the small leafed dish of jewellery in front of you as you placed each precious gem to your skin, when the faint clanging of the last piece rattled against the ceramic plate with a brush of your fingers.

" Oh..." your eyes drifted down to your wedding ring sitting lonesome along the ridges of the handmade keepsake. The corners of your lips turning down in sadness at the ache the circular band still managed to pull within your chest.

Something so small, so simple, yet it held the weight of a decade's worth of memories. And although your husband's hand was still adorned with the gold band of vows you had made, yours wasn't. Only the lingering indent of where it once sat remained, embedded into your skin as a reminder of who you'd forever be bound to through the years of your youth you had spent together.

" Right" you rose from your seat, brushing the tear that had settled within the curls of your lashes as you made your way over to your wardrobe.

Hands brushing along the dozens of gowns hand-sewn with lace and sequins, your eyes drifted to a lone shirt of Tommy's nestled between the fabric of your clothes that had gone unnoticed when separating your belongings.

Fuck sake, you sighed to yourself at the constant reminder of his presence, releasing a stifled cry when the lasting notes of his cologne drifted towards you as you pulled it out from within your wardrobe, tightly clutching the cuffs of its arms within the palms of your hands.

You could have moved to one of the many guest rooms. But Tommy had insisted. Was it his way of making you remember, making sure you didn't forget?, your own paranoia began to nag you about the room that suffocated you every night with the reminder of the love that was shared in it, the passionate nights that once filled it.

" This one will do" you abruptly shoved it to the back of the cupboard in favour of a blouse, pulling yourself from recounting the blissful moments you found yourself gazing at through rose-tinted glasses, forgetting the reality of how dire things had become.

Happy times had been replaced with a darkened mood, an unpredictable temper that would sway back and forth to the sound of the pendulum in your foyer to whatever had displeased its owner. For when Tommy's mood was good, it was good. And when it was bad, it was very, fucking, bad.

Deciding to no longer be the kept woman, the woman that had barely a thought to herself her husband hadn't invaded, you had come to the realisation that it would be your responsibility to pull yourself out of the limbo Tommy was intent on keeping you in.

"It's quite chilly outside, Mam. Perhaps something a little warmer?" Frances voiced as her hurried steps raced towards you in a panic after noting the sheerness of the top you had chosen, sheer enough to see a peak of thrills from your brassiere.

" They say it will be mild later today" you shrugged off your gown into a bundle of fabric on the floor as you caught the worrying concern in her eyes.

" Perhaps, perhaps a cardigan then, if it gets too...cold" you relented, watching the relief wash over her as she eagerly searched behind you for a wooly garment that would cover you enough to get you through the front door without your husbands raging jealously making itself known to all those unfortunate enough to be within close vicinity.

" That's better" Frances adjusted the back of your fleecy shawl as you looked at the reflection of yourself in the weathered glass of your bedroom window, pulling the buttoned clothing around the curves of your chest.

Still, a kept woman.

" Elsie, come on! We're going to be late!" you called up the stairs, furiously tugging at the prickling fabric of your cardigan, itching the back of your neck as you paced the foyer. Eager to get going before the sound of your husband's phone call ended, and he learnt of your day's plans.

" Where's my pony? I can't find it!" You heard an avalanche of toys being tossed onto the wooden floors of her bedroom as she searched for her most cherished of toys.

Come on, come on, your body began to panic as you rolled forward from your heel to your toes to see the back of your husband drifting left and right between the crack in the door, receiver still in hand as he gave his orders to the poor soul on the opposite end of the line.

" Elsie!" You called after your six-year-old for a second time, perching on the bottom step of Arrow Houses's grand staircase as your head craned up to see what was taking her so long, when her bouncing curls and plump cheeks suddenly appeared, hopping down each wooden slab with her treasured horse in hand.

" Go, go, go" you ushered her along, simultaneously attempting to tie her hair into a plated braid with each skipping step of her booted feet along the marble floor as your eyes nervously darted to Tommy's office that had now, suddenly gone quiet.

" Ow Mummy, you're hurting me!" Her hand flew to her head in protest as you tried to twist the band around to keep her hair in place.

" I'm sorry darling, but we'll be late for the bus and Mummy's interview if we don't get moving" you winced as the skin of your fingers dragged along the tight elastic, finally pulling the last of her locks through.

" Daddy!" She screeched, turning her head and feet to the sight of Tommy appearing from behind his office door.

Shit.

" Morning princess" a smile grew on his face as she bounded into him, squeezing her little arms around his waist as he shuffled forward from foot to foot until he reached you, inches from making it out the door before the interrogations began.

" Sweetheart" he pressed a longing kiss to the side of your head, hand threading into the locks of your hair as you shrugged away from the charade of a happily married couple he was adamant on maintaining in front of your daughter.

" Car's waiting outside" he said as his fingers settled on Elsie's shoulders stood behind her, her petite hands clutching onto his as his eyes roamed over your choice of outfit.

"But mummy said we're taking the bus" your daughter pouted up to the frown of confusion creasing on Tommy's forehead.

" The bus?" Your husband's eyes darted up to you as you adjusted the bag in your hand, feeling the familiar heat of his piercing stare begin to burn your face.

" I thought you were meeting Linda and Ada to go over her wedding plans?" Tommy's frown stayed firmly knitted between his brows as he watched your fumbling fingers pull out your small silver pocket mirror, wiping the corners of your ruby-stained lips.

"Well, won't you need the car for that?" You heard a heavy sigh of irritation follow his questions at your silence. The small brown haired barrier between you both, stopping him from letting his annoyance slip and forcefully demanding it from you instead. " Y/N?"

" I have somewhere to be first" you snapped the mirror shut as you cleared your throat, when the innocence of your daughter's curious mind revealed your true plans for the day.

" What's an interview?"

Double shit.

"You have a job interview?" Tommy scoffed a stifled laugh of disbelief, shaking his head as his veiny hands straining with annoyance came up to brush down his mouth.

" Something Mummy has no business in doing, Elsie" the tone of his voice deepened, scolding you through his reply to your daughter's inquisitive mind.

You were slipping further away from him with each passing day. Why wasn't he told about this? He was slacking, his men slacking, Tommy thought to himself as his breath became heavy, his shoulders tensing with anger as you continued to ignore his questions to pat the creases that had already begun to appear in your daughter's school dress when Tommy's eyes suddenly darted to the blouse you had chosen, peaking through the open button of your cardigan that had slipped through its hole.

" An interview" he quietly mumbled with a breathy exhale of suspicion as you quickly pulled the front of your top around your chest.

Rising to your feet, your eyes caught sight of his glaring anger in the silence that weighed heavy between you. A stare intent enough to have you believe that it was you, who had done something so atrocious, that it deserved his sour reaction.

" Elsie, what do you think of Mummy's new...clothes?" Tommy broke the tension as his eyes stayed firmly fixed on you, using your daughter to have his displeasure with your outfit made known.

" Pretty" she grinned a toothy smile as her hands reached out to feel the soft fabric. " Like the feather dancers at Uncle Arthur's work" she blushed shyly at the beauty her mother radiated and the many sparkling jewels that adorned your skin she dreamed you'd one day let her wear.

" Thank you, my sweet girl" you stepped forward, brushing your fingers through the locks of her hair when your eyes cast up to the protruding bone of your husband's jaw inches from your face, his heavy breath fanning across your lips.

" Go get your school bag, love" Tommy let go of your daughter's shoulders as she merrily skipped away from the gap he was closing between you.

" Feather dancers. So a whore, then?" He mumbled through gritted teeth as he pulled the front of your cardigan to the side, fingers sweeping under the top of your exposed lingerie. " You gonna whore yourself out for this job too, eh?" He cocked a brow as you pushed past him.

" It's just fabric, Tommy" you straightened your clothes as you waited on your daughter.

" Elsie, come on, let's go" you urgently reached your hand out for her to take as she fumbled with her coat when Tommy abruptly pulled you back into his body.

" What happened to you, hm? I don't even fucking recognise you anymore" you felt his grip tighten around your arm as he quietly voiced his opinion on what he believed was a change in your personality.

"What I wear is no longer your concern, now is it Tommy?" You responded in a hushed voice as you pulled away to your daughter patiently waiting by the door.

"I'll race you there" you smiled down at your dimpled cheeked child as she eagerly nodded her head.

" We have a whole fleet of cars, Y/N. Y/N!" He called after you, hands on hips as he stood at the bottom of the winding stairs. Watching you jog off with your giggling six- year-old before his eyes flew up to the second floor and the paranoia he needed to settle.

" You're late" Linda clicked her tongue, patting the seat beside her as you arrived in a tangled mess of hair, slipping garments and rolling eyes at the soon-to-be Shelby members' orderly manner.

" First, let's go over the itinerary" she pulled out a floral notebook, her fingers scrolling down the many pages or arrangements she had already made for her big day.

" Goodness Linda, can we not have some tea, or perhaps something a little stronger to get us through this joyous occasion" Ada sent you a playful wink as you shrugged off your bag, settling into the chair between them.

" How are you?" Your sister-in-law probed, quickly noting the deep bags of exhaustion under your eyes and the heavy sigh accompanying them. " Let me guess, my dear brother?"

" He went and pulled a Tommy special again, Ada" your hand trembled up to your brow, pinching the six months worth of stress you couldn't seem to rid yourself of.

Shakey hands, sleepless nights, you thought to yourself, burying your fingers under your legs to hide your rattling nerves. Was it all worth it?

" Yes, I did hear about that" she sent you a sympathetic smile of understanding. Knowing the lengths her brother would go to make his point, as he continued to stubbornly dig his heels in.

" I think the whole of Birmingham did" a sudden wave of shame reddened your cheeks with the learnt knowledge that every living soul in the fogged city was now aware of your and Tommy's strained relationship.

"It's been postponed, the...divorce that is" you mumbled, barely able to mutter the catalyst that caused said blaring row. The word alone, causing your stomach to twist into an unbearable ache for the love that was still there for him.

"And your interview, this morning?" Ada's attempt to change the heavy topic of conversation was gratefully welcomed when a smile began to dimple into your cheeks. For your trusted sister-in-law had seen the stress the separation had put on you, been at the brunt end of her brother's phone calls as he accused her of spurring on your decision to end the marriage.

"I got the job" you scooted your hands from their numbing position, fingers brushing a lock of hair behind your ear as she matched the excited grin on your lips.

" I'm meeting him, my boss, for drinks later. To go over the finer details, and in celebration for his newly hired typist...me" you giggled as a surge of confidence bubbled in your stomach at your first step into becoming an independent woman when Ada's smile suddenly dropped.

" Him...drinks?" her eyes began to widen, darting to the side of your cheery smile at the young peaked cap man sat a couple of tables behind, tipping his hat before slipping away.

"Y/N perhaps drinks are not..."

" Ephesians chapter five, verse two..." Linda interjected into the conversation her rosey notebook had taken all her attention with.

" Ada, what is it?" your brow creased, ignoring the beginnings of Linda's religious lecture, her eyes snapping back to you as she swiftly clutched her fingers around your hand.

"Ada?" You quietly mouthed when your gaze drifted over the concern filling her sapphire eyes, the same concern you saw in France's that very morning, the realisation your giddy stupidity had clouded, suddenly hitting you.

It was just a drink to celebrate, he didn't have to know? And if he found out, surely he'd understand? It was a new job, you couldn't turn the offer down, it would be impolite. You were separated...you and Tommy separated.

" Wives, submit to your own husband. As to the lord..." Linda's ill-timed words of advice drifted to you as you released your hand from Ada's clutches.

As the continued martial counsel buzzed relentlessly in your ear, you let your body slump into the cushioned fabric of your chair until the drowning religious verses muffled with the sounds of twirling spoons tapping against their porcelain tea cups, scrapping knives cutting freshly baked cakes until nothingness, complete silence.

How could you have been so stupid? So naive to have thought you could support your daughter on a mere typist's wage? That Tommy wouldn't move heaven and earth before he'd see the likes of you working so closely with another man? That word wouldn't get back to him about your planned drinks?, you thought to yourself as the distant sound of Ada calling your name echoed through each delayed blink of your welling eyes.

Divorce, another one of your stupid ideas, from your stupid list of stupid things you thought you could achieve, you continued your onslaught of self-inflicted insults as a tear rolled down the slope of your cheek.

And the worst thing about it all, about the whole fucking ordeal...you still loved him. Still, hopelessly in love with him. Pathetic, a hand shook your arm as your head cast down, remembering the cascade of decisions that had everything fall apart.

For when you no longer needed the guiding hand of your husband, his opinions nor protection as you began to blossom into a woman and spread your wings, came Tommy's paranoia. Fear of losing you to life's wonders, to another man, your husband's clutches began to tighten to the unbearable point where every waking breath wasn't without him looming behind you.

And yet you soldiered through, the thought of separation too torturous to contemplate as he continued to tighten his chains around you until he pushed you to the point where a tearful outburst had you asking for the dreaded seven letter word, an outburst that finally had you seeing the man your husband had kept in the shadows. The real, Thomas Shelby.

" Flowers. A dozen red roses on each side of the altar. Like the ones my Artie picks for me" Linda's voice suddenly snapped you from your thoughts, her insufferable happiness searing through the stained memories you shared with Tommy.

Maybe she was right after all. Submit to your husband. The only sensible, optional choice. Right?

Bolting two steps at a time to your once shared bedroom, Tommy threw open the door, eyes wide as he scanned the room.

You were seeing someone, fucking someone, he told his raging paranoia as he began to wade through your belongings, pulling your cupboard draws out one by one in search of something, anything that would confirm his suspicions.

" Fuck!" His hand slammed the last drawer shut, finding nothing that would give him the justification to interrupt your days plans and confront you about your lies.

What the fuck was he doing?, he perched himself on the edge of your vanity, fingers threading through his hair as a heavy sigh of exhaustion left his lips. He was losing you, he told himself, burying his head in his hands as he swallowed down the nagging guilt of his own making creeping up his throat.

You loved him, needed him. You were just...Tommy refused to believe otherwise, refused to accept your separation as he pulled a cigarette from within his suit jacket when a smack of reality hit him with the winking shine of your gold wedding ring catching the corner of his eye.

Puffing a cloud of smoke from his lips, Tommy rubbed the small band between his fingers, lifting it to his face to see his engraved initials entwined with yours inside of its metal frame.

Was that when you began to distance yourself from him? After your wedding? When you no longer sought out his advice, cared to sit and watch him work, choosing rather to meet new people, go new places without him? To... modernise? he cleared the bitter taste of resentment from his throat, clutching the lone piece of jewellery within his hand, clutching onto the remnants of your marriage for dear life before tossing it onto the table for all to see like you had your marriage.

" Just what are you up to, hm?" Tommy's distrust quickly returned, feeling hurt by the sight of your wedding ring laid cold on its ornate tray as he picked up the small photo frame of you and Elsie he had taken on a trip to Brighton many moons ago.

" You better not be lying to me darling. You know what happens when..." Tommy's eyes drifted from your portrait to the mug of cold tea sat on your vanity. It's distinct smell, awakening his senses and anger in one quick, sweeping moment.

Ginger.

Commonly used for insomnia. But also consumed in regular doses as a form of contraception. A tea Tommy would tease you about in your early years of dating with it's uselessness as you refused to rely on his preferred, and most notoriously unreliable method of, pulling out.

It had been many months since you and Tommy had shared your martial bed, many months since you basked in the warmth of each other's bodies.

You weren't fucking him. So who were you sleeping with?, Tommy seethed at the idea of another man touching you that wasn't him, all logical thinking swiftly taken over by a blazing fury behind the viscous storm brewing behind his eyes at the lies he was convinced you had told him. Lies he'd get to the bottom of before the day was over.

" My car, now!"

Next Part

Tag list: @peakyswritings @justrainandcoffee @garrison-girl-08 @meadows5 @lavender-haze-01

@strangeobsessed @ttae-yong @lemonwithstupidity @lindsay00000 @mischievouslittlecreature

@jbrownta @lau219 @whereismymindnow

[mxltifxnd0m]

falling foolishly ღ s. winchester

summary: your best friend jess makes you go to a get-together to meet one of her classmates, the thing is, she mentioned two and you don't know which one she meant

pairings: stanford! sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader, platonic! jessica moore x reader, platonic! sam winchester x platonic! jessica moore

requested: yes/no: by @s4wdvator thank you for requesting lovey!!

word count: 4.4K

warnings: modern/no hunting AU, no use of 'y/n', a shit ton of fluff, you and jess being little shits to each other, mentions of sex, some cursing, title is a lyric from must be love by laufey, the prequel to my smau's: must be love and too tongue tied!

a/n: my first request for sammy and its the prequel to my smau's! it was very fun to write and i hope you guys enjoy! and I love sam and jess <33

please reblog and comment! i love to hear your thoughts and it helps out a lot <3

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The cool, crisp January air hit your cheeks as you exited the lecture hall and wrapped your red wooly scarf around your neck. California didn't see any snow, but you were surprised that the state was capable of dropping below 60 degrees during the winter.

A slight breeze swept through the campus as the dead leaves from autumn skittered and drifted across the grass and pavement. The leaves littered the ground as you walked through the nearly barren quad of the Stanford campus and headed back to your dorm.

You were grateful that you only had two classes today, the one you just took, and you had a four-hour gap before your last one. You had your headphones on as you made your trek back to your dorm, where your roommate was no doubt still there or getting ready for her classes. You almost let out a sigh of relief when you entered the heated lobby of your dorm and quickly made your way to the third floor.

As you entered your room, you set your bag at the edge of your bed while a familiar head of long, curly blonde hair sat at her vanity as she got ready for class. You made eye contact with her blue eyes through her mirror, and you saw her mouth widen into a smile.

"Hey! how was class?" Jessica asked you as she applied a coat of mascara to her lashes.

"It was fine." You said with a roll of your eyes while taking off your scarf and cardigan, leaving you in a thin black long-sleeve and jeans.

A chuckle left Jess's lips. "You're regretting taking this 8 am aren't you?"

A mournful groan left your lips as you kicked off your shoes. "I thought I would be able to, but it's going to be the bane of my existence for the rest of this semester." You walked to your bed and face-planted into it

"Is it too late to drop it?" You heard her ask as her chair moved against the carpeted floor.

"It might be," Your pillow muffled your voice. You moved your head so you could breathe. "But the stupid class is only available this semester and not at any other time."

Your eyes followed Jessica as she shrugged on her black North Face puffer and as she walked up to your bed.

"You have my sympathy and pity." Her eyes were sparkling with mirth as she patted you on your head.

You scowled at her and swatted her hand away from your head. Jess managed to rip her hand away from your head before you could hit her as she laughed at your grumpy mood.

"Just go to class." You grumbled as you sat up and grabbed your laptop out of your bag to start on some work.

Jessica laughed before grabbing her backpack. "See ya later, bitch!" She sent you an air kiss.

"Whatever, bye whore," You sent her a two-finger salute while reading the article your teacher assigned her as Jess left your shared room.

"Hear me out-"

"No good sentence starts off with 'hear me out', Jess." You cut her off after taking a sip of your water.

The two of you sat in the dining hall, eating dinner together as people bustled and chattered around you, absorbed in their own conversations and worlds.

Jess whined your name. "Can't you hear me out for just a minute?"

"The last time I did, you got black-out drunk the day before winter break started and I had to drag you back to the dorm."

"I wasn't that bad."

"You almost threw up on me and clung on to me all night." You deadpanned at her before taking a bite of the pasta you had chosen for dinner.

"What can I say, you're a really good cuddler." Jess winked at you, but all you gave her was a straight face.

She rolled her eyes at you. "Can you blame me? We had just finished finals!"

"Righttt." You drawled out.

"Whatever, just hear me out for just a second and I swear it'll be worth your time."

You pressed your lips together. "Fine, you get a minute."

"I was invited to a small get-together and I want you to come with me as my plus one."

"Is this an actual small get-together or a ploy to get me to another party?" You narrowed your eyes at Jess.

She shook her head. "I swear." Jessica made it a point to cross her heart. "The friend I made in my Philosophy class invited me and two other classmates to their small housewarming in the apartment they just got."

"Are you sure you're able to invite someone else with you?"

Jess nodded. "Yeah, I asked them and they said it was alright."

You sighed. "Fine. I'll come."

Jessica's dazzling grin appeared on her face, and you could see her visibly getting excited. "Yes! I've been dying for you to meet my class mate anyways."

"Which one?" You raised an eyebrow.

Her grin turned into a sly smirk. "You'll see on Friday."

You squinted suspiciously at her. "I don't like that look on your face."

"What look?" She said with innocent eyes and a scheming smile still on her face as she took a bite of her food.

"I'm onto you, Moore." You pointed your plastic fork at her as menacingly as you could, but all she did was chuckle.

"I'd rather you be on top of me instead." Jess cooed as she fluttered her eyelashes at you.

The two of you had flirty banter since a month of living together. You had met Jessica at freshman orientation, and you guys had hit it off immediately, becoming fast friends and stuck by each other like glue until the day ended. You guys traded socials before you guys left. So when the move-in day came around, to both of your surprises, you guys were each other's roommates.

Since then, you guys have been best friends. It felt like you guys have been friends since you were kids. But you've only known each other for about four months, and it's only your second semester of your freshman year. Nevertheless, you have a feeling that she's going to be by your side until both of you kick the bucket.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile grew on your face. "I'd always knew you'd be the bottom out of the two of us." You teased.

Jess scoffed. "As if."

"That wasn't a no, Jess." You said in a sing-song voice as you got up to put away your now empty tray.

"Wait, no! It was!" Jessica said as she got up to follow you, your laugh ringing throughout the already loud dining hall.

You were typing away at your laptop when something was flung at you, and your vision was obscured by a piece of clothing.

"You're wearing that." You heard Jess say before you pulled it off of your face, your hair askew.

You glared at her back as she dug around the small dresser on her side of the room before looking at the offending article of clothing she unceremoniously threw at you. It was a tight, black, long-sleeved dress that had a plunging neckline. It had a skirt that flared out, and it looked like it had ended around your mid-thigh.

"Jess, are you crazy? I'm not wearing a dress in the middle of winter!" You hissed as you were getting ready to throw it back at her.

She threw something else in your direction wordlessly, and it landed on your bed. You leaned forward to grab it and saw it was one of her fleece-lined tights that she would wear if she wanted to wear a skirt in the cold.

You opened your mouth to protest before she whirled around and held a finger up. "Nuh-uh, no complaining. I let you wear whatever you wanted when we went to those parties last semester."

"Are you insulting my fashion sense?"

"Of course." Jess flashed a sarcastic grin at you.

You scowled at her in response before closing your laptop with a little more force than you needed to. You huffed before getting off your bed and began to change out of the t-shirt and leggings you wore for the day since you had no class on Fridays.

"Are you sure you're still the top in the relationship?" Jessica quipped and dodged the stuffed animal that you chucked at her from your bed with a chuckle.

After you changed into the dress and tights, you did your makeup as you usually would but applied a raspberry-tinted lip stain and some black eyeliner instead of the usual brown you did on a day-to-day basis.

You let down your hair from the hairstyle you had on all day and curled it lightly. Once you were with your hair and makeup, you put on your everyday rings, necklace, and a few spritzes of perfume and slid on your cherry red platform boots you had gotten from your sister for Christmas.

As you were bent over and zipping up your left boot, you heard a wolf whistle come from Jess. You looked up to see that Jess was wearing the opposite color as you.

Jess's dress was a frilly long-sleeve dress that ended at her mid-thigh with nude tights underneath; you assumed that they were fleeced-lined as well. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, her makeup made her look angel with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, and she was wearing black Mary Janes. If you stood side by side, you'd look like the living manifestation of yin and yang.

"Damn, it's not fair you look better than me in that dress." Jess all but pouted at you.

"I'd argue but I have a feeling you don't want us to be late."

Jess looked at her phone, and her eyes widened. "Yep, we should go now if we don't want to be late for the Uber since its like five minutes away."

You nodded and grabbed the red leather jacket you thrifted a while ago, along with your scarf, and followed Jess out the door as she grabbed her black leather jacket. The Uber to the apartment was brief, but it was filled with awkward small talk between the driver and the two of you.

As you walk into the apartment complex and ride the elevator to the fourth floor, where Jess's friend's apartment is, you feel a little nervous. You had yet to meet these people before, and you were not the most socially adjusted person.

Jessica was the extrovert out of the two of you and did most of the talking while you let her. You preferred listening anyway and chiming in when it was appropriate. You would only let loose around people you knew and were comfortable with.

Before you knew it, you had followed Jess to the apartment door. Her knock on the door broke you out of your slight daze, your body on autopilot before you snapped out of it. You heard the door unlock and swung open.

A girl with long, straight red hair, wearing glasses, and a broad smile answered the door. "Jess! I'm glad you could make it!" She greeted her with a hug before her blue eyes landed on you just behind Jess. She said your name with the same amount of enthusiasm as she greeted Jess.

You hid your confusion behind a smile as you gave her a small wave in greeting before she ushered the two of you inside her apartment.

"I've heard so much about you from Jess! I'm Mel." Mel introduced herself as she led you guys into the living room. You had noticed that there were about six or seven people in the living room, chatting and snacking on the food and drinks that were laid out.

The apartment was spacious and had an open floor plan with the kitchen to your left, the living room in front of you, and to your right, stairs that led to a loft area. You noticed some sliding doors that must have led out to a balcony since you had seen some as you looked up at the apartment complex.

Someone squealed from the kitchen, and out came a girl with tanned skin and brown bouncy curls barrel into Jess, giving her a massive hug.

"Hey, Dinah!" You could hear Jess greet who you now know is Dinah as she pulls away from the hug. "Come meet my best friend and roommate." Jess said before gesturing to you.

You saw Dinah's warm brown eyes land on you, and she smiled wide. You all got properly acquainted before you guys joined everyone else in the living room, being introduced to some of Mel's friends and Dinah's friends. You felt comfortable after being introduced and listening to the conversations that were being had. You even chimed in a couple of times, leading the conversation one time.

At one point, you saw Jess lean over to Mel, who was sitting on her other side. "Where's Sam? I thought he said he'd come?" You heard her ask Mel.

Mel nodded. "He said he was going to be a little late."

Jess hummed in response. "Okay, but-" Jess was cut off by a loud knock on the door.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear. That must be Sam." Mel said before getting up from her seat and answering the door.

Mel came back with a guy who you assumed was Sam, and your breath hitched as you took in the sight of Sam. He was tall with brown hair and bangs you wanted to brush from his forehead. You couldn't tell what his eye color was from where you were sitting. But he had a cute nose that you traced with your eyes. He was dressed in layers from what you could tell was a dark undershirt peeking out from underneath the navy blue polo, which was covered by a worn, unzipped brown Carhartt jacket, with his hands shoved in the pockets.

Mel introduced him to the group, and everyone said variations of greetings. You saw Sam's eyes scan the group before they met yours, and you could see that his eyes were hazel, and you could tell that they shifted color depending on the lighting. You gave him a small smile, one he returned before his eyes moved to the person next to you.

Jess saw this small interaction and smirked to herself. She stood up and greeted Sam. At this point, everyone had gone back to their conversations, and you were brought into one with Dinah and another guy named Brady. But you were only half listening to them, your mind still stuck on the tall guy with hazel eyes that only stood mere feet away from you.

As the night went on, you found yourself wanting to talk to Sam but couldn't. You always seemed to psych yourself out of talking to him. As people started to get a little tipsy, you managed to slip out of the living room unnoticed and out to the balcony. Which now, you regretted instantly.

The cold night seeped into your skin as you rested your elbows on the metal railing. It was bearable, but you would prefer to wear something warmer than the dress you were wearing in this kind of weather. You were debating on going back inside to grab your jacket.

"Aren't you cold?" A voice startled you out of your thoughts, and you whipped around to find Sam standing at the closed balcony doors.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He apologized with a sheepish smile, which you thought was cute. Sam must have realized that he had scared you.

You shook your head. "You're fine, I was just lost in thought and didn't hear you come out here." You reassured him with a slight smile.

Sam seemed to relax at your words and smiled back at you. "I'm Sam." He introduced himself as he stuck out a hand for you to shake.

"I knew that." You said through a small chuckle as you shook his warm hand, his hand almost dwarfing yours as you did. "Mel introduced you when came in."

There were fairy lights strung on the metal railing and around the balcony, lighting the area with a warm and inviting atmosphere. You could see a blush grow on Sam's cheeks as he realized that she did, in fact, introduce him to the entire room.

"Right, I forgot about that." Sam let out a nervous laugh.

You quickly introduced yourself to Sam, and he said your name like he was testing how it rolled off of his tongue. The way he said your name sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you smiled at him.

"How do you know Mel?" He asked with a gentle smile on his face.

"I don't. Jess asked me to come with her to meet some of her classmates."

"Oh! That's right I remember Jess talk about her best friend a lot before class."

You raised your eyebrow at that factoid. You didn't realize that Jess talked about you that much, which sent warmth to your chest. "Didn't realize that Jess talked about me that much." You said with a nervous chuckle.

Sam's smile broadens as he nods. "She does."

"Well, what's your story, Sam? What brings you to Stanford?" You ask him.

Before you know it, the both of you were launched into a conversation that flowed like a river in a dense forest. You found out Sam was in pre-law; he is from Lawrence, Kansas, with an older brother named Dean, and his brother is a firefighter back home. In turn, you told him about the major you were in, your family, and where you grew up.

You guys were so deep into your conversation that you didn't feel the cold anymore until a shiver racked your body when the breeze suddenly picked up. Sam noticed, and his face twisted with concern.

"Crap, I didn't even realize it was that cold out here. Here." Before you could protest, he shrugged off his brown jacket and stepped closer to you to drape it over your shoulders, filling your nose with a faint woody and fresh linen scent.

You were stunned by his actions momentarily before his stepping away snapped you to the present, and you put your arms through the sleeves. The jacket engulfed you; it was the same length as your dress, and you had to scrunch up the sleeves since they were so long.

Sam had a fond smile on his face as you focused on pulling up his sleeves before he looked away and exhaled a breath. He realized you could see his breath, so he looked back at you. His breath caught as he saw the girl that Sam thought was pretty when he first walked into the apartment, swarming in his jacket before he shook his head to get rid of the thoughts that were forming in his mind.

"We should probably head back inside." He suggested as he shoved his hands into his jeans, no longer being warmed by his jacket.

You agreed with his words, and Sam opened the sliding door and gestured for you to go inside first. You shot him a grateful smile before stepping into the warm apartment.

You took a few steps forward until you were propelled backward as you got a faceful of blonde hair in your face and arms wrapping around your shoulders. You would have toppled over if it wasn't for Sam's tall form and hands landing on your waist, underneath his jacket, and steadying you from behind.

You couldn't focus on anything besides his warm hands seeping through the fabric but were brought back to Jess's tipsy ramblings.

"You're b-back! I was wondering where you went." Jess's words were slurred slightly as she booped you on the nose.

Sam eventually let go of you as you steadied yourself with Jess in your arms.

"Yeah, I am Jess," You chuckled lightly at the blissful smile that was on Jessica's face. "I was out on the balcony with Sam."

Her blue eyes brightened at the mention of Sam, and she finally seemed to notice that he was behind you. "Sammy!" Jess called out cheerfully.

You heard Sam chuckle as he moved to the side so you could see him. "Hi Jess," Sam said with a smile.

How in the hell are you now noticing that he has dimples. Christ, this dude was getting more and more cuter by the second.

"He was the classmate I wanted to introduce you to. Sam is totally your type, you know?" She whispered to you a little too loud, and Sam could still hear her.

"Like he's smart, tall, handsome, and-" You cut off Jess by slapping your hand over her mouth. She continued to speak, her words muffled as you felt your cheeks flush with heat as you dared to look at Sam.

You could tell that Sam was thoroughly amused by Jess's drunken ramblings and your now flustered state.

"She's a clingy and loud drunk if you couldn't tell by now." You said with a tight smile on your face as you thought of the many ways that you could murder Jess.

The smirk on Sam's face was making your heart beat faster. "Yeah, I think I got the picture now. I've never seen her like this."

"Yeah, well, I've seen her like this many times." You finally pulled your hand away from her mouth when you felt her stop talking and nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck.

You sighed and patted her back. "Come on, Jessy. Let's go sit down and get some water in you."

Jessica grumbled into your neck, and you could barely make out the words, but it sounded like she wanted to go home. You looked at Sam with an exasperated expression on your face, making him laugh. You couldn't hold back the smile on your face at the sound of his bright laugh.

"Okay, but let's drink some water, say bye to everyone, and then we can go, okay?" You said gently to Jess as you petted the top of her head, and all she did was nod into your neck before adjusting herself so she could be tucked into your side.

"I'll come with you," Sam said. "Looks like you have your hands full and need help." He gestured to the 5'10 blonde nineteen-year-old hanging off of you.

With some thought, you eventually accepted Sam's help. With his help, Jess drank a bottle of water and ate some food that was still out. You said bye to everyone in the apartment, grabbed your jackets, and Sam called an Uber for the three of you to take it back to the dorm since he lived in the building across from yours.

Sam graciously took the front seat while you and Jess sat in the back. She dozed on your shoulder, and before you knew it, the three of you were back on campus with Jess's shoulder slung over your shoulder as you led Sam to your room. You were okay with just walking back to the dorms by yourself with Jess, but Sam insisted that he'd walk you guys to your room.

If this was anyone else, you would have been creeped out, but you knew Sam had nothing but good intentions behind those eyes that reminded you of a puppy's. So he walked with you and Jess all the way until you made it to the room. At this point, Jess had sobered up slightly but trudged into the room as you unlocked it. You stood in the doorway as Sam lingered in the hall.

"Thanks for helping, you made things easier than it had ever been before."

Sam shook his head. "No problem. Does she get that way a lot?"

"No. Sometimes it's me clinging to her, but more often than not it's Jess." You said with a small chuckle. Sam smiled at the sound of your laugh and looked down at his feet.

Sam looked a little nervous as he looked back at you. "I'm glad we met. I really liked talking to you tonight."

"So did I." You sent him a kind smile.

"Could I get your number?"

Your smile widened as you nodded. The two of you traded phones as you set up new contacts with one another. Once you were done, you guys gave each other's respective phones back, smiles lingering on your faces. You looked down at your boots and remembered that you were still wearing his jacket.

"Oh! here's your jacket." You took it off, even if you didn't want to, and gave it back to Sam.

Sam took it and folded it over his arm as if it were a suit jacket. You both stared at each other for a moment before you spoke up.

"Well, thanks for the help and walking us back, Sam. You've been a real gentleman."

He playfully bowed, bending slightly at the waist as he placed his free hand on his chest, looking at you cheekily. "The pleasure has been mine," Sam said before straightening to his full height.

A giggle escaped your lips. "Cheeky." You said before you bit your bottom lip. You didn't want to second guess yourself, and even in your platform boots, you had to lean up and plant a kiss on Sam's cheek.

"Goodnight, Sam." You said with a shy smile as you drew back from him, a dopey smile on his face as his dimples appeared on his face.

"Yeah," He said breathily before shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. "Goodnight," Sam said your name before the two of you shared a smile. You stepped back from the doorway and closed the door. You locked the door and turned around to find Jess sitting on her bed with tired eyes but a shit-eating grin on her face.

"You saw the entire thing didn't you?"

"Mhm. Never knew you had the balls to kiss him on the cheek. Maybe you are the top."

Jess wasn't fast enough to dodge the massive stuffed animal you kept on the edge of your bed, and the two of you dissolved into laughter as it hit her face.

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fic Day 9 & 10 ~ Snowman & Snowball Fight

Summary: You try to give Logan happy memories to associate with snow rather than sad ones.

Warnings: none that I'm aware of but let me know if I'm wrong

Pairings: pretty sure this is suitable for everyone (fem!reader/male!reader/gn!reader) but I am still new to writing anything other than fem!reader so any pointers are greatly appreciated.

This work kind of follows on from Day 8 but it is not necessary to read that one before this one.

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

December Masterlist

Promising to help Logan associate snow with happy memories instead of sad ones was one thing but actually seeing it out was another. Logan knew you loved him and adored you too but, deep down, he knew that sometimes his baggage was too much for people to handle and that ignoring it and moving on from it was the easiest thing to do. That meant that when it snowed again and you actually approached him to carry out your promise, Logan was slightly shocked. 

“You umm… you want to what?” He asked, sitting at the dining table in the communal kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and reading some book about a war from donkey’s years ago. 

“I want to take you out on a date in the snow to build a snowman.” You repeated, already bundled up in boots, thick clothes, one of Logan’s jumpers and a wooly hat. “Come on baby, I told you we were gonna make happy memories and you agreed. You can’t turn me down now. I promise, give it half an hour and you won’t be so hesitant.” You tried and Logan gave in easily. How could he turn you down when you were one of the only people he had met in years that actually wanted to help him. 

“Alright, let me go put a jacket on-.” You interrupted him by pulling his jacket from behind your back. 

“The less time you have to think about it, the less you’ll try and talk yourself out of it.” You told him and he just laughed, pulling his coat on and taking your hand, letting you lead him out into the garden as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Thanks for keepin’ on at me an’ keepin’ trying’, bub. Means a lot.” He muttered and you just grinned widely at him, not needing to give him a verbal response for him to know that you were more than happy to help and to keep helping. 

“You ever built a snowman before? You have to have, right? I mean you’re what, a billion by now?” You teased as he just rolled his eyes and pushed you a little. 

“Watch it, bub. Don’t want me pushin’ you in the snow now. You’ll get cold.” 

“Oh my god! We need to make snow angels too before we go inside. But first, snowmen. Right, you start on the biggest one and I’ll start with the middle one.” You directed and Logan stifled his laugh at you demanding, nodding and getting to work rolling a big snowball to have as the base. 

“How big are we talkin’ sweetheart?” He called, his snowball decently sized. When he turned around to see why you weren’t answering, he saw a ball almost double the size of the one he had and almost perfectly circle. “Well how on god’s green earth have you managed to do that in the space of five minutes?” 

“How is yours so small? Lo, you’re meant to be making the base. Baby what have you been doing?” You walked over to his ball of snow and you couldn’t help but laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Don’t pout, Howlett. No matter how cute you look, sore losers are an ick.” 

“A what?!” He asked and you leaned up to kiss his cheek before running back to your snowball. You tried to start rolling it again but Logan was quick to swoop and grabbed you around your middle, pulling you down and onto the floor with him. “An ick? What the fuck is an ick?” 

“Logan I was kidding.” You laughed loudly as he nipped at your ribcage. “Ok ok ok, mercy. Mercy, please.” 

“Explanation, bub. Right now.” He demanded. 

“An ick is like… something that puts you off a man or a partner. But it was a joke, Lo. Nothing could put me off you.” You reassured him as he cocked him head to the side, reminding you of a puppy. 

“Right… well my ick of you is that you build the middle bit of a snowman too fast.” He huffed and you rolled your eyes again, laughing. 

“Okay, yeah sure. Now can you let me up? We’ve gotta finish our snowman before this snow soaks us through. Ooh when we’re done we’ll have to find some stones to give him eyes and a mouth. And sticks and a carrot.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Eventually, you decided to let Logan make the head and you made the bottom two layers, being faster and clearly more skilled. He lifted them on top of each other, you having to get on his shoulders to place the head on top. “Jesus… why did we make it so big exactly?” He asked and you shrugged as he passed you the stones and carrot you had been to fetch. 

The snowman was complete and you and Logan stood in front of it, just admiring. “I still don’t know why you struggled so much. It isn’t that difficult to make a ball out of snow.” You joked and Logan just smiled, laughing along with you. 

The pair of you turned to head back inside just as you felt a handful of snowballs hit you square in the back. You both spun round and saw a swarm of the kids stood, arms poised ready to launch another load of snowballs at you. You squeezed Logan’s arm as quick reminder to keep calm and that it was all okay but he was smirking, prepared for the fight. 

He was quick on his feet, dodging snowball after snowball while you hid behind a bush for cover. He grabbed handfuls of snow and jumped from child to child, either dumping the snow over their heads or cautiously taking their feet out from beneath them and letting them hit the floor, careful not to let them fall too hard. 

When all of the kids were on the floor and laughing, Logan panting heavily from moving so fast and his hands red from the amount of cold and ice on them, you stood from your position, a huge ball of snow in your hands. “Logan.” As he turned to face you, you threw the ball and it hit him straight in the face, eliciting another wave of laughter from the kids. “Payback.”  Logan grinned at you, flashing his canines as you set off running, squealing as you went. “Better run, baby. I ain’t stopping till I get my payback.”

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[tbshorts]

Starly turns a tiny cowlick into a powerfully proud pompadour

✨ Bidoof ✨ ... and Bibarel, I guess.

Kricketot and Kricketune are good, if unspectacular, costuming

Video scripts below the cut

Starly:

Why hello there, Gen 4 Pidgey, what is your deal?

Well, Starly isn't much of anything, it's a fairly literal translation of a starling, albeit with a quite compelling graphic design on the face and a good use of that one white tailfeather and the little cowlick on the head to give it some uniqueness.

Staravia mostly doubles down on those ideas, hardening the face mask into a star and REALLY curling that cowlick into a spitcurl that, along with the severe expression, gives it some strong confrontational energy.

And all of that comes to a head culminating naturally and very smoothly in Staraptor, which moves basically all of the design detail to the head and face. Its face crest now spreads out in sharp spikes, the eyes are red and focused and serious, and it's grown what's always seemed to me like a Bōsōzoku hairstyle, that particular brand of youth counterculture so embedded in Japanese pop culture. The blood red that it's tipped with gives it some much needed color and more menace, almost as though it's daring you to comment on its silly hairdo.

I feel the rest of the design is a bit neglected here, it could use some more detail, but all in all, it's effective, it looks powerful, it works.

Grade: A

Bidoof:

You know, if Bidoof didn't evolve, I might genuinely put it in S-tier.

Every generation needs its Rattata, right, a mostly weak, somewhat cute but usually quickly discarded Normal type with an early evolution, entirely designed to be left behind. Bidoof is that for Gen 4, but… who could ever abandon this precious child? Look at him! I struggle to even really articulate it, because its sweetness is so obvious.

Bidoof's shape language is very simple, all circles and rounded shapes, which then contrasts with the sharp rectangles of its teeth. And that enormous overbite combined with the tiny little red clown nose and those sweet little button eyes that are just a little too far apart… god it looks precious. It's so fucking cute! What dark alchemy did they pour into this beast to make it so fucking appealing??? If you can put him in a PC box and leave him without feeling guilty, your soul will not see Heaven!

The evolution, though… I mean Bibarel is fine, it's cute enough, but between that weird eye mask, the pinprick eyes which just don't work on it and the loss of a lot of its wooly fluffiness… some of the magic is lost.

It's still cute, it's still good, but it's just not Bidoof anymore.

Grade: A

Kricketot:

I don't usually give bug types much attention because, well, they tend to be weak and I don't like their type matchups, but Cricketot is a deceptively adorable little thing. With its wide collar and markings on the chest, it looks like it's wearing a fancy olde timey outfit, and depending on if you see the round shape on its face as a mouth or a nose it looks various degrees of awkward and shy. The color scheme is maybe a bit drab, but what a dapper little gentleman.

This all comes very much to a head in Cricketune, with its big imperious moustache the wings hanging off its body like fancy coat tails. Going by its pokédex entries it's supposed to evoke the idea of a virtuoso composer, playing on the idea of grasshoppers and crickets as violinists. And, yeah, I can see that idea. I think maybe the markings on the body could have evoked white tie dress a bit more explicitly, or maybe have its antennae shaped like musical notes or something, but, no, yeah, I buy it.

As a design, this is… perfectly effective. It's not exciting, but it's a fun idea and it works… well enough.

Grade: B

[alenseress]

"Oh. Hah."

Elias makes his way in without much commotion to it. There's certainly enough space around Jon's somewhat limp body sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of the doorway and he makes use of it, eventually stopping to neatly fold his coat. Jon is not entirely sure he finds it in him to be surprised. Or scared. Or, maybe, he just doesn't have enough will of his own left to feel pretty much anything.

"Take the shoes," he clears his throat out, trying to find his voice. "Take the shoes off. Georgie doesn't—"

"I know."

Of course.

"Of course," he blinks first and shuts the door second.

They go by a kind of move-stare-follow protocol while Elias proceeds to make himself at home. Although it's mostly Jon doing the staring, Elias doesn't look at all. He walks across the flat blindly, like his muscles remember the floor and the corners. Jon supposes they might, in some omniscient and messed up way.

"Charming," Elias proclaims dryly at the thin mattress Jon came to inhabit.

"Indeed," Jon echoes.

Seeing the man plop down gracelessly in his thick flannel suit doesn't have the same effect anymore. Jon used to think it was some weird corporate thing, something they'd teach you at a workshop about great leadership. Make yourself approachable. Sit down with them on a dusty curb in the back alley, share a cigarette, address them by their names. Crush a man's scull into a purée in their office. Make them feel. Make yourself human.

"Don't," Elias said softly as Jon takes a breath in.

He reaches out a hand that Jon doesn't take. Instead, he sits at the opposite end of the mattress, feeling a sudden vertigo. Elias drops the hand into his lap, palm up. "You're burning up."

Jon cracks a hysterical laugh, heavily propping himself up. He feels a tug at his chest, a yearning for a solid form beside him, spitting "fuck you" in the viper's face — a sad, childlike desire, to call for Tim like he'd make all the monsters go away in an instant. Jon squints at the hungry void across from him, all alone, he's so alone, and the monster creeps closer. Elias takes his still burning, still bubbling hand in a firm hold and tugs until the void swallows Jon whole. He watches the fall of his own body, wet forehead pressed into the wooly fabric, bones twisted in an unnatural position. Elias jolts involuntary as Jon tumbles into him but sits still for the few excruciating moments Jon needs to collect himself. Mentally, mostly, because to recuperate his body on the ground — mattress, — and push himself up against the wall proves to be easier than walking.

They sit now, shoulders and sides touching, and Jon now can't see the void. He closes his eyes to be sure and pants heavily.

"What are you doing to me?"

"Nothing. You're just dehydrated."

"Sure."

Elias sighs and runs circles over his wrist.

"I might get sick," Jon adds.

"You are."

"No, I mean." He gestures vaguely, shaking off the cold fingers. "I mean puke."

"Mhm."

Jon makes an effort to pull his knees up and double over, curling in on himself. He breathes, fast and panicked, trying to will the nausea away and the cold hand returns to pet steadily at his back. Jon feels a very particular nothing about it being there.

"You..."

Killed. A complete sentence, not even an accusations, because Jon doesn't know how to finish it. Leitner. Gertrude. Sasha. You killed me, he wants to say, even when he's still hurting and breathing.

"Time and place, Jon. There's no use to try right now."

Jon squeezes his head between his knees and wants to wail. He wants to cry more and he wants Elias to be gone. He does get away, truth be told, the mattress shifts and pangs and Jon doesn't know if this twisted delirium of his is ever coming back until Elias carefully unfolds him.

"Don't get the wrong idea," he sounds almost amused as he cradles Jon close, pushing a bottle into his hands and palming greasy hair out of the way.

Jon drinks in gulps that hurt him more than the burning and drops his head onto the bony shoulder in some exhausted kind of surrender. Elias smells like the archives. Cologne and cigarettes, too, but mostly dry rot and dust. Never sweat. Never the must of a human body. Jon feels cold terror bite at his ankles and curls up again, this time pressing himself into Elias' rigid form, nose buried in satin. He doesn't knows gods, not the way his grandmother did, but he imagines this to be the smell of those catholic statues adorn in silks and left to stale for centuries on end.

Feed your god fearlessly and without hesitation, or it will feed on you.

He feels a gentle press to the top of his head. Might be lips or something else, Jon doesn't know, but he laughs coarsely, clinging to the shirt with bloodless fingers. "Don't get the wrong idea."

He doesn't really think there are any wrong ideas left between them.

Elias hums and it echoes all around. Jon speaks again. "Is this real?"

He's not sure if he's doing the thing, but Elias scratches at the base of his skull with repulsive tenderness and answers earnestly. "It is."

"What do you want?"

"At the moment?"

"I... Yes."

"For you to sleep, preferably."

"Why?"

Jon feels his pitying gaze. Like he's a blind rat staggering in a labyrinth under a watchful eye from the above.

"There's a job to be done, Jon."

Jon pushes away with a sigh, not meeting much resistance, and buries himself into the scattered sheets. Maybe this is the kind of acceptance the underground woman felt in the face of death. He never understood it before, not before a kiss touches his temple and slips onto his cheek. He's not sure he wants the touch. He's not sure if he resents it. Papers slide across the floor, a statement he won't read, not now, not in this room. He kind of expects footsteps and shutting of doors now, but instead Elias gives them some distance and seemingly settles for good, prickly eyes creeping up Jon's spine.

"Do you want to hurt Georgie?"

"No."

"Are you lying?"

"Not to you, Jon."

Jon turns his back on the monster in his bed and doesn't find it in him to care if he doesn't wake up.

[maddy-k-reads-all-day]

Things I noticed in the broken tape

What is Amanda holding here? I can't really tell. Also I realized, in the background of this, you can hear the music of the "everything rots" iconic scene and the audio of Amanda saying "I can feel myself... rotting." in the background. But Wooly's "Amanda's" kind of drown it out. And Amanda looks like she's crying here. She seems like a sad child in a scary situation, but she doesn't look like she's afraid of Wooly. We've seen her "afraid" face before... this isn't it. She's sad. And instead of helping her, Wooly is bothering her. Calling her name over and over, drowning out her cry for help.

Then there's the whole sequence of scenes of Amanda and Wooly being merged together... I think this kind of symbolizes how their stuck with each other. When Wooly died he came back. Whether both of them like it or not, they are the only other person they have in this world.

Then there's the flashing images of the door... Idk what that represents but flashing images of doors seem to be a recurring theme. Maybe it's the entrance to their world? Or the exit? *shrugs*

Now this next thing I will admit I completely didn't notice until I read a bunch of youtube comments pointing it out. But in the scene where they are all sinking, both Amanda and the opossum try to fight it, and while Wooly seems surprised and a little panicked at first he just gives in.

Then there's the whole meatman scene... everyone talks about how Wooly looms over Amanda as she screams but I have seen no one mention how the meatman is the one who makes her scream in pain like this. Also when he says this line, did anyone else physically feel that feeling when the shot is definitely more than a pinch... but like... in their whole arm? I feel it every time and that's why I always try to speed past that scene when watching Amanda videos cuz I hate that feeling so much it makes the whole thing feel 10 thousand times more creepy to me.

I feel like this section of the tape seems to really show how Amanda sees Wooly. Or just represent their relationship in general. She's in pain, suffering, and he just watches with a smile. As if nothings wrong. Looming over her. She can't get rid of him. She's in pain and he doesn't even seem to care. He does nothing says nothing about it. Just stands there smiling without a care in the world.

Moving onto to the We Can Fix it portion (have I talked about this before I can't recall?)

First off, what's up with the whole, losing their eyes thing that happens throughout the tape? Do we think that could be symbolic of something?

Moving on, is it just me or are these the FRIENDLIEST interactions we've ever seen between Amanda and Wooly? Like they are literally just chatting with each other. No angry glares no passive aggressive comments. They disagree about throwing things away, but Amanda doesn't get nearly as angry at him about it as she has with other things. Also it's kind of weird to see Wooly annoyed with Amanda and her being weirdly patient with him. If you showed me this tape back when Amanda 1 came out I'd tell you it was fake.

Also, is it just me, or does Wooly act a lot more... I don't know... human in this tape? Like, I feel for most of the games he feels like... a static cartoon character. Everything he says and does (especially in the first game) feels SO scripted. And while he has moments where he breaks this, it's usually brief. But... this whole tape he just feels so... human. Like not just this cardboard cutout who smiles and waves and always acts the same. Like, throwing old stuff away is a normal thing to do. Wooly kind of feels like a parent trying to get their kid to put some of their unused toys in the yard sale bin. (except way less mature about it). His genuine surprise when they fix the first two toys. The way he rolls his eyes at Amanda when she says: "Just let me look" And like, his little snide comments he makes like: "I could've been to the dump by now." Feel so unlike him, but still so much like something an actual person would genuinely say. In general, he seems to be doing and saying things that feel like things he would usually never do, and yet still feel so in-character. He seems to act more genuine in this tape.

And then, Amanda's concern when Wooly's eye gets torn out. Like, she looks genuinely worried. Wooly actually freaking out over it... I mean, when have we ever seen Wooly freak out like this? Sure he seems nervous or scared around Amanda at times, but like that feels different. And Amanda, actually tries to comfort him! Like does no one else notice how weird this is for them?!

Not to mention Wooly saying he doesn't like this game anymore. Wooly never seems to object to adventures. I feel like this scene between them says a lot more than we realize.

My theory is that the whole Broken Tape sequence caused some sort of change or realization in the two of them. Wooly suddenly saying "I can't take this anymore!" after whatever the heck that opening sequence was would make quite a bit of sense. Like that was probably horrifying for the both of them. The whole "getting merged together" thing?! The whole meatman showing up thing?! The whole, sinking into the ground thing?! Like while it looks clearly worse on Amanda it is probably horrifying for them both nonetheless. Between the opossum, the meatman, and Hameln maybe they silently agreed that there are much worse things to deal with than each other, so maybe they became slightly more tolerant towards each other? This behavior seems to continue on into the Do You Feel Safe? tape, somewhat. There's a clear change in their behavior. Amanda seems to directly call out Wooly's "nothing's wrong" attitude when he says the neighborhood feels "safe".

Then Amanda asks: "Does it Wooly?" and... once again we don't see Wooly's "Everything's Fine" mask on. I mean, how could it after the whole "Broken Tape" incident? Well I mean, it's kind of there. He still says, "Yeah, most of the time." But he sounds SUPER unsure this time. Almost like "I thought it was..."

Also I just love the face Amanda makes at us here. I don't know something about it is so funny to me. it's giving a sarcastic "yeah sure, most of the time Wooly." kind of vibe but also like she's look to us like we totally agree. Or even like a looking to us with a "Look at this idiot." vibe. I know I've already talked about this tape but I wanna talk about it more in the context of the continuity between this one and the last one. I really do think that Wooly tries to go back to his, "stay on script" mode.

I also just noticed here that Amanda doesn't seem too annoyed at Wooly's lecture... UNTIL

He flips back to the whole "Having Adventures with your friends!" thing. And she flat out ignores him, the way she used to in the first game. I think between these two tapes, Amanda seems to be more... comfortable and less annoyed around Wooly when he ISN'T playing a caricature of a cartoon character. Like, obviously, she says in this tape that she still doesn't trust him. This whole alley scene interaction seems very much like their first game interactions. Like Wooly is clearly trying to fit back into the whole "everything's fine" skit and Amanda isn't having it. This could why she doesn't like him in the first place. He acts like everything is fine when it very clearly isn't. And Amanda... flat out IGNORES him. She straight up tells him to shut up, and he looks kind of afraid of her, the way he used to in the first game.

Also I find it really interesting how Wooly suddenly switched back from talking about the show and how they should act to saying "but I really don't-" don't what? Don't like it? Cuz I feel like that's what he was trying to say here. I personally think the whole "playing along with the show" thing is not even about what Hameln wants. It feels more like a way to cover up the fact that Wooly doesn't seem to like all this. It's almost like he's reflecting the blame onto Amanda for their situation rather than acknowledging Hameln's role in all this. Which ties into my favorite Amanda theory:

Basically, I think Amanda and Wooly have very skewed perceptions of each other and both believe that the other has bad intentions. I think on Wooly's part, he's a lot more selfish than Amanda. Though, I feel like Amanda would be a lot more tolerant of Wooly if he was actually honest about how he feels about this situation. Because as much as he tries to hide it and pretend to like it here, he clearly doesn't. Of course he doesn't, he isn't stupid. But I guess it's easier to pretend nothing's wrong and play a part than to actually process what the hell happened to you. (or rather, the hell you went through). Honestly, I think Amanda is actively trying to process and overcome her trauma while Wooly is avoiding it, burying it. Though both are doing it at the other's expense.

However, in the good ending version, the opossum appears and creates a common enemy between the two. And they work together really well. If you help them beat the opossum, Amanda suddenly agrees with Wooly's sentiment that sometimes strangers can be scary. Then when Wooly asks if they could go home, Amanda teases him, asking if he's scared. What I find interesting is that he doesn't actually refute this. Which while it isn't admitting it, it isn't denying it either which is definitely a start. (and then there's the alternate scene where they beat up the opossum in complete sync with each other what the heck).

Whoops that got REALLY off topic. My point is, their relationship has changed, and they seem to be STARTING to communicate more with each other. Amanda still doesn't trust him, but I think this is a start. Yes she tried to kill him at one point, yes she hated him... but I don't think Wooly is as terrible as some people make him out to be. He's selfish and he actively ignores Amanda's feelings in favor of what HE wants, but I don't think he's doing it for Hameln.

Anyway I'm tired. I'll talk about the rest of the tape tomorrow. We cool with that? IDC I'M GOING TO SLEEP BUH-BYE!

[woolysstuff]

"Bit pathetic, isn't it?"

Thumbnail art undercut

[bonefall]

Is Sandgorse still abusive in BB? If so does he still save Sparrow? Idk I think it'd be a neat thing for Talltail to brood on and move past once realizing the truth. Like just because your abuser did a "Good Thing tm" doesn't mean you have to forgive them or that all of a sudden it excuses their past a tion towards you.

Or did you remove this plot beat entirely? If so I don't blame you :P

Weird that Tumblr search isn't giving me all the stuff I tagged :/ hopefully after finals are done I can compile a 1st draft/The Story So Far for the rework of Tallstar’s Revenge

It's now called TALLSTAR’S COLLAPSE. It is actually a story I am rewriting with tragedy in mind. It's about Talltail fleeing WindClan with his starcrossed lover, Sparrow, only to eventually be drawn back to it where he becomes a perpetuator of all the things that made him leave.

To answer your question; Yes, and. Sandgorse is abusive and there's a LOT of nuance to this situation. I'm not sure if he still saves "Sparrow" though because I have waaaay more of a point in mind with Tallstar’s tumultuous relationship to him.

Summary of changes,

Tallstar's Collapse

Sparrow is the Clanmew name Jake takes when his group interacts with WindClan. His first language is actually a dialect of Townmew!

(Also Firestar has no known father in BB)

His group is nomadic. They go from place to place trading goods. I need a name for both them and their cultural "cluster" but in my head, Jake's family is the Algernauts because Algernon is the current leader

It's important the Algernauts are extremely endearing because leaving them is VERY painful

(and something i want to frame as the wrong choice for tallstar, emotionally)

WindClan is in a very sensitive period of its history. Before Tallstar was born, Heatherstar began the Mothermouth Moorland War, to take a very large parcel of land from ShadowClan. A good 1/5th of it.

Naturally this is a huge project and incredibly ambitious. Sacrifices Must Be Made

The sacrifice she has chosen to make is the death of tunneling. Because she's smothering it.

Tunneling is PEACEFUL, defensive at best. You can't dig them in a floodplain, they would be useless for holding the Mothermouth Moorland territory

Tallkit is born into a terrible position. Son of the head tunneler, mother in a terrible depression, and Heatherstar trying to pry a wedge between the "future" and the "past"

Im also planning to change his name. He was born Slowworm-Kit, which has a connotation of cleverness in Clanmew. To bully him, Shrewpaw calls him Wormtail, because Slowworms drop their tails if pulled. It means "you will get trapped in a cave-in, and when they pull your tail, it'll fall off"

But it doesn't translate well into English... so I'm not sure what his Heatherstar-given warrior name would be. Wormwing or Wormleap maybe, like he "defied fate" to become a wonderful moor-runner...

Or maybe the prefix is Drop? Droptail as the mean bully name and Dropflight as the warrior name...

Anyway, when he returns, Heatherstar welcomes back the extra claws and honors the lesson he learned with "Talltale." In Clanmew this is "Story-travelled," his leader name meaning "Tale-star."

Anyway. Back to the cat drama

Talltail (name pending) is in a tight spot. I kind of want to show everyone being a victim except Heatherstar herself, who has all the power in this situation.

Not that it excuses anyone

Sandgorse is watching something he loves dying, an ancient tradition passed down for generations. He is trying to force his son into a position he shouldn't HAVE to occupy, but his child is the one thing he might have any control over

(Until Tall breaks it ofc)

Tallpaw was just a kid. He needed to take out his bullying and the stress on something, and that was usually his mother and the concept of tunneling

Palebird has been completely neglected by her mate as he focuses on the person he WANTS his kid to be. She NAMED a Fading Kit, a serious social taboo, and even the support of the nursery and Woolytail can't pull her out before Tall's kithood is over

Heatherstar is using Tallpaw as a political pawn and Tallpaw is too young and hurt to realize it. He was given to her sister, Dawnstripe, and endlessly praised for his skill and talent in a time where he NEEDED positive feedback

Which is making his relationships with his parents worse

All the while, there's VIOLENCE. Regular raids and counterstrikes. Cats die and get injured, and it only escalates as Tall gets older and Cedarstar is reaching the end of his lives, hoping to end the conflict before then

And in all this chaos and uncertainty, there comes Sparrow.

Just a trader and an honored guest, there's been lots of these nomadic visitors since the time of Windstar herself, but they've become quite rare.

When Sandgorse dies suddenly in that collapse (TITLE DROP) Talltail has the push he finally needs. It's too much. He can't process this

Sparrow begs him to leave with them, they don't even need to confront anyone, just come!

IF IT SUCKS HIT DA BRICKS

I have tons of really nice little things planned for this part of the story. It's several chapters of Talltail being free.

He engages in the funeral rites of Wee Hen, asking if he may sit vigil for her. His new family is honored to allow it, Reena even tries to do it too and falls asleep

(Little sister energy)

They meet all sorts of people and go to many places. Talltail learns that the world is vast, and there's an endless amount of knowledge out here.

It all starts crashing down when him and Jake find a litter of abandoned kittens, and become parents.

They're a few moons old.. around the same age as his halfsibs back home.

It starts bringing back memories. He wonders how they're doing. If they made a nice grave for Sandgorse...

The sudden longing for his own mother strikes him like lightning.

For the first time in eons, he feels GUILT over leaving. He thought it was over-- he's living his own life now!

But what if they're hurt? What if there was a battle and he couldn't help? What if his mentor died and he didn't even know?

What kind of a horrible son doesn't even say goodbye?

The problems that made him leave seem so small now, and the homesickness is like acid leaking from his stomach, dissolving his guts and leaving him hollow

He's raising kits who will never know what it means to earn a title, or have a permanent home, or--

(Any of the other things he should have learned don't have meaning outside of clan culture. Things they wouldn't miss.)

He cherishes the memories he makes here, raising children with his mate, but something turns inside of Talltail. Like the groaning ache of a hundred stones on top of a decaying mineshaft

The REAL collapse is this. An existential crisis Talltail can't escape from.

And eventually, it comes tumbling down with one last, horrible nightmare.

In his dream, he came home only to find the sandy camp abandoned, the dens decrepit, full of musty scent and cobwebs.

Sandgorse was there. And they talked.

His dad was gruff as always, disappointed. But he didn't say anything the real Sandgorse would say.

The nightmare said, "You really did turn out like me. We both left your mother when she needed us. Turned our backs on our leader. And now we're both dead to WindClan."

Tall wakes up crying. Jake is there to comfort him, but the conversation they have is sad.

Jake tries to tell him that's all not true, and even if it WAS his dad, his dad sucked and would only say that to hurt him!

But... Tall can't believe it. Jake's right but also wrong. He IS all those horrible things.

And...... how can jake ever Understand? He does not know the Bonds of a Clan cat

(thought terminating cliche. Outsiders Cant Understand Our Bonds.)

He stays a few more days, but that nightmare was the end. And everyone sees the change.

The kits are apprentice-aged. He stayed until they would be old enough to keep up with the Algernauts.

And he says goodbye. He won't ever leave without saying goodbye ever again.

Jake says it doesn't have to be goodbye, he'll always love him, and they can visit! They can see each other again!

And Tall says yes. That this isn't the end. It's... see you later, my love.

(...but they both know how violent it's getting between Wind and Shadow. It isn't safe to visit.)

It is the end. But neither can admit it.

But after Tall is a fair distance away, one of his kits tackles him.

POSSIBLY Post-Tallstar's Collapse

Not sure if I'd put these in a novella or still make it part of it, but these are all directly related to the fallout of Tallstar's Collapse

Most likely is that there would be overlap between this and Brokenstar's Cataclysm, so the same events would be seen in different perspectives.

The kit's name is Fly. Tall has to wait for him to catch his breath and stop crying before they can talk.

Fly already lost parents before. He says he knows he can't make his dads stay together, "But PLEASE, papa, let me choose where I go this time!"

How could he say no? How could he send his son away after a plea like that?

He told him it would be hard. That he would be trained. That there would be dangerous fights.

Fly didn't care, he said he could be strong. He could do anything he needed to.

So... Tall took him to WindClan, where he became Flypaw. He became the warrior he promised he would be.

And Tall didn't notice how much the kid was changing until it was too late. Flytail took to it as if he was Clanborn-- but had to work twice as hard, fight thrice as viciously.

Though Talltail was graced with an Honor Title and open arms, he'd adopted his greatest rival.

Fly and Tall started competing for deputyship as soon as they finished training apprentices; Heatherstar had a fondness for the two of them.

In the end, Talltail won the spot by springing into action and saving Heatherstar's young nephew, a little golden tabby, from an adder.

Flytail continued as one of the more aggressive warriors in the Clan, surviving increasingly violent and bitter battles, until it came to a head in Heatherstar's Last Stand.

Her final battle as an old leader was a gruesome, definitive curbstomp in the last strategic point ShadowClan held above Carrionplace.

One of the losses was Lizardstripe-- neck snapped in Flytail's jaws.

Runningnose, and by extension, the oak-tree to his long-shadow, Brokentail, remembered this. Especially when Runningnose's father Mudfoot collapsed later that year.

As Talltail took leadership from the dying Heatherstar, a familiar regretful guilt wormed into his belly.

His son Flytail stood with a bloody mouth, eyes wet with sorrow, looking down at the leader Talltail once loved almost as much. Appreciating her sacrifice.

(secretly he didnt choose Deadfoot as his deputy just for his honor title or the battle move he invented... he chose him because there was a shocked, sorrowful look in his eyes at the fallen shadowclan cat. Sympathy seems more honorable in this moment.)

Tallstar is a wise leader... but his fatal flaw is naivety. How could he think he'd bring his son into WindClan, and not see the boy grow into a ferocious Warrior?

And naivety is what he displayed when he offered Raggedstar a peace deal. WindClan would keep the land, but they would pay a small tax of rabbits over the winter.

It was unprecedented. It was merciful. It was stupid.

When the winter was over, what would stop them from pushing further south?

Would they trade back the frogs and the flax, come summer?

On the blood and bones of so many warriors? As if giving up was ever an option?

Brokentail killed his father to prevent him from taking the deal, and reawakened Ripplestar's War Tactics.

BURN the peat. KILL the prey. OFFENSE is defense. A dead warrior is 10 less claws. A dead apprentice is 1 less warrior.

Stolen kittens are 1 more warrior on your own side.

Tallstar paid the ultimate price for letting Flytail follow him home that day. On the night of the massacre, Flytail went down fighting alongside a mate and a daughter. Dogpiled by Tangleburr and her squadron in revenge for Lizardstripe and Mudfoot.

Tallstar's granddaughter Stoneclaw, made a warrior and sitting for her vigil on that night, was the sole survivor of the little family.

The event stopped her from speaking again, like she's still sitting vigil.

Tallstar is a character who almost broke free of the control of the Clans. For a brief moment of his life, he was free.

He thought maybe he could change things a little, protect his Clanmates from the battles by being part of them, have the Mothermouth Moorland and protect the peace at the same time. But you CAN'T.

You can't fix broken systems without fundamentally changing them. He thought he could be a nice warlord and that would work on the Clan whose territory he had inherited. Power acts through people just as much as they act through power.

And that's Tallstar. He who travels the world, yet is never able to go far enough. Always falling just a little short of the point, believing that love and mercy is enough while blissfully ignorant of the pressures of pride and power.

Into this role, as a successor to this leader, Onestar is unwillingly thrust.

[tsuutarr]

Finally found someone who does Pokemon Sun and moon too...

can I request a fluff interaction of a male farmer who herds Wooloo and Kiawe has a heavy crush on him but doesn't know what to do? Until the reader lost a couple wooloo who stumbled in Kiawe's farm and causing a small ruckus because they're just scared sheep!

Kiawe helps out and finally ends up talking to the sweet farmer boy??

it's fine if the reader can be GN if you don't do male readers! :)

(this is such a cute prompt!! I love farmer! readers so much haha + Wooloos are so stinkin' cute! Also, I ended up not using any gender indicators so this fic came out pretty gender neutral I think? It wasn't intentional, but I hope that's okay!)

Pairing: Kiawe x gn! reader

Word count: 1438

It all started when Kiawe’s mother asked him to deliver a welcoming gift to the new farmer who had just moved to Alola from Galar. Kiawe agreed because he wanted to welcome the new farmer to Alola – it isn’t easy moving across regions, after all. So, with the determination of a friendly neighbor, Kiawe made the trip to his neighbor’s farm.

What he didn’t expect, however, was a round Pokémon barreling into him. Thanks to Kiawe’s active lifestyle, he was able to keep his ground, but when he looked down, he saw a Pokémon that he’d never seen before. Still, looking at the cute eyes of the wooly Pokémon made Kiawe’s heart melt. The Pokémon bleated at Kiawe, looking confused.

“Don’t worry,” Kiawe said, patting the Pokémon on its head. “I’ll help you find your Trainer–”

“Sorry! That’s my Wooloo!”

At the sudden appearance of the new person, Kiawe blinked owlishly, looking up and making eye contact with the cutest person he had ever seen. 

“You little rascal– why do you always run off like that?” you scolded your Pokémon who bleated at you as if it had done nothing wrong. You sighed, shaking your head, before turning to Kiawe and offering him a gloved hand. “Hey there! Nice to meet you! I just moved here recently.”

“I– yeah,” Kiawe cleared his throat, before thrusting the gift in his hands into your outstretched one. “My… family runs the farm over there. We thought we’d welcome you.” Though usually stoic and calm, Kiawe was having a hard time formulating words.

“Ah, I see! Thanks, that’s so kind of you– oh, wait here, I have something to give you back!” you gave him a smile that blinded him because of how charming it was. “Now c’mon, Wooloo. Let’s go back to the herd.”

Your Wooloo bleated at you as it followed you back to your farm. Kiawe was only broken out of his stupor once you were a considerable distance away from him. Oh Arceus, what was that? Kiawe inhaled, before letting out a deep groan. You were just so cute? And charming? Kiawe needed to get control of himself.

So, while he waited for you to return, he steeled his mind, reciting battle tactics and dance moves to try and recover. Unfortunately, all his efforts were in vain because as soon as you appeared before him again, his mind blanked out.

“Here!” you offered him a bag with various crops and Wooloo wool. “These are some things native to Galar! I hope you enjoy them.”

Kiawe took the bag from you, gave you a nod, and began to walk away.

“I’ll see you around!” you yelled, making him stop in his tracks.

Kiawe turned around to face you, said, “Sure,” and kept walking away.

Now, about three months later, Kiawe cringes every time he thinks of his interaction with you. He’s been nervous before, but he’s never been as tongue-tied as he has been around you. But that barely excuses how embarrassingly he acted around you. Sometimes, in the middle of battles or dancing, he’ll mess up because he’ll remember how cringey he acted that day. You probably thought he was a weirdo and he can’t do anything about it.

He genuinely doesn’t know how to approach you. Sure, he helps out at his family’s farm sometimes, but he’s usually more focused on dancing and Pokémon battles so he doesn’t have that many chances to interact with you. Besides that, he feels like he’ll totally do something stupid again because you’ll smile at him with the warmth of a thousand Torkoals. 

With a sigh, he continues stacking hay bales for his family’s Milktanks and Tauroses. As Kiawe is about to wrap up his work, he hears a moo in the distance, and then a bleat.

Wait. A bleat?

Kiawe turns around to see one of his Tauros pawing the ground to get ready to charge a group of Wooloo. 

“Milktank!” Kiawe calls, and the smart cow Pokémon knows exactly what to do, rolling into a rollout to smack into Tauros’ side. The bull Pokémon topples over, giving Kiawe enough time to approach the huddled sheep Pokémon. “Hey, it’s okay,” Kiawe soothes the three scared Wooloo, kneeling in front of them and stretching out a hand. “I’ll take you back to your Trainer, okay?”

The Wooloo don’t respond, shivering against each other, until one Wooloo recognizes Kiawe. It approaches Kiawe carefully and sniffs his hand, before nuzzling it.

“There, that’s it,” Kiawe says. The friendliness of their friend helps the other Wooloo calm down slightly, despite being in unfamiliar farmland. “And Tauros, I’m grateful you’re always vigilant about intruders, but you can’t go around charging at every Pokémon you don’t recognize,” Kiawe scolds, standing up to face the Tauros. 

The Tauros, helped up by Miltank, snorts out an apology.

“As long as you understand–”

“Wooloo!”

At your voice, Kiawe basically freezes.

“You’ve had me so scared!” you scold as you approach the fence gating Kiawe’s farm. “How do you keep escaping and winding up in places like this?!”

The Wooloo all bleat apologetically, before moving to huddle behind Kiawe and push him towards you as a shield.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say, and Kiawe does everything in his power to not combust.

“Don’t apologize,” he says simply, keeping his tone has flat as possible. “They almost got attacked by my family’s Tauros, so I should be the one apologizing.”

“No, don’t say that! My Wooloo rolled into your farm, so no wonder Tauros was frightened.” With a sigh, you beckon your Wooloo over with a pecha berry, luring them away with a sweet treat. “C’mon, you rascals. Let’s get you back home.”

Kiawe panics because he hasn’t seen you in months but somehow, you’ve gotten a lot cuter since then. Not to mention that he basically doesn’t get to talk to you, so this is probably his only chance to talk to you again unless your Wooloo decides to cause a ruckus again three months from now. At the thought, Kiawe huffs out a small laugh, making you peer at him curiously. He can feel himself flush in embarrassment at your attention. “Ah, I was just thinking that we always seem to talk because of your Wooloo.”

“That’s true,” you laugh, patting one of your Wooloo on its head. “I have a Yamper to help, but he’s just too spoiled to do any herding, I guess. Maybe if he evolved into a Bolthund, it’d be easier.”

“Well, if you need help, I can help train your Pokémon,” Kiawe offers, his desire to help you outweighing his nervousness. “I’m a trial captain here so I know my way around training.”

“Oh, that’d be lovely, actually!” you beam. “I couldn’t trouble you, though.”

“It’s no trouble,” Kiawe says, earnestly.

“Hm… But I can’t just take from you, really,” you murmur. “Ah, I know! Why don’t I treat you to some curry? It’s a staple in Galar.”

“Oh.” The nerves hit Kiawe at full force, and he can feel his palms get sweaty and his mind swims. He wants to take you up on your offer desperately, but he’s worried that he’ll intrude. Not to mention the fact that he might look like a complete doofus!

“It was just an offer,” you quickly say once you see his wide-eyed look of surprise. “Don’t worry about it, actually.”

“No, I want to!” Kiawe says hastily, a lot louder than he intended. “I just don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” you assert. “I’m offering because I’m very grateful you’re willing to help me train my Yamper.” With a grin, you pull out a notepad and pen from your back pocket and write down your number. “Here, how about you text me? Let’s talk about it over the phone and we can set a proper date. And well, you can always come find me at my farm!”

Kiawe swallows. “Sounds good.”

“Great!” you beam, before turning to your Wooloo. “Now, come on, you little rascals, let’s go home.”

They bleat at you in unison, but don’t put up much of a fight as you herd them away.

“See you!” you exclaim as you walk away.

“Yeah– see you!” Kiawe responds, heart still beating erratically. Wow, well, that went better than expected. From beside him, his Milktank nudges him, giving him a thumbs-up (or at least, as much of a thumbs-up a Pokémon with hooves can give). He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself down, but for the next few hours, all he can do is grin, making his family all shoot him curious glances.

[luvfy0dor]

Hello there ! I find your writing lovely and I saw that you were asking for some ideas.... its been kinda cold and rainy lately and I was wondering.. what about fyodor and the reader staying under the blankets and cuddling to stay warm... (and allowing him to get some rest) ...

"I Want Your Dreary Mondays" Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; None, just fluff!!

Description; Cuddling with Fyodor! It's kinda short, but I think it hits all the important points!

A/n; Man it has been so rainy lately for me, too. It makes me so tired all the time like it gets hard keeping my eyes open after noon tbh and it just puts me in a mood 💔

Scenario !! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Your eyes opened to a slight darkness rather than the usual sunshine that peeked through your windows each morning. The cold air matched the dreary mood that came from the lack of natural light combined with the pitter patter of the rain outside. You blinked a few times, still not fully awakening but yawning and stretching as well as you could while staying under the blankets. The feeling of your lover breathing against your neck didn't contribute to your warmth very much, making you shiver a little bit whenever the chilly air hit your skin.

His wooly sweater though, on the other hand, did you some justice. You tugged the covers over your shoulder and snuggled right on up to your lover, his eyebrows furrowing a bit before he wakes up, looking down at you. He was clearly still sleepy and dazed, his eyes squinted with drowsiness. "Are you cold?" He whispers, cuddling right back into you. His bony hands ran up and down your back and sides as he rests his head in between your shoulder and neck. You nod, humming in response as you slide your hands up the back of his sweater in attempt to warm them up.

He sharply inhales when he feels how frigid your hands were, his back arching slightly away from your touch. "You weren't lying, my love." He says, right before prying one of your hands from his back and holding it in his own. He gives it a soft squeeze, his head still in the crook of your neck as he inhales your familiar scent. You squeeze it back and snuggle up to him, peppering soft, chaste kisses along his neck. His cheeks visibly grew pinker, even if it was only in the slightest, you could still tell. Even the most minute change in his demeanor or appearance would not go unnoticed by you, and the same goes for him. He knew you like the back of his hand, and even though he wasn't the best at showing it all of the time, he noticed all the small things just like you did.

He noticed your sleepiness before you did sometimes, scooching closer to you so you could rest your head on his shoulder. He noticed discomfort, guiding you away from a situation as discreetly as possible. Most of the time he even knew what question you were going to ask before you even opened your mouth, having an answer prepared for you. He is a very observant man, or maybe your just very obvious? Perhaps it was a combination of both.

In this very moment, Fyodor could tell you didn't want him to leave the warmth of your bed. He quickly realized that your kisses were an attempt at coaxing him into cuddling with you without explicitly asking. He grinned a bit before sitting up, escaping your hold and yawning. You gave him a perplexed and disgruntled look before grabbing his hand again. "Hey, you can't just leave! I'll freeze, Fedya, do you want me to die?" You say, pulling the blankets up to your face, trying to replace the heat from Fyodors body. "You're not going to freeze to death, it's not cold enough for that." He deadpans, holding onto your hand.

"Well if I won't die then I'll suffer. I'll suffer this harsh, harsh weather all alone." You say. He quietly scoffs, moving his hair out of his face. "You'll be fine." He says, kissing your forehead quickly before getting out of bed, fully removing the blanket from his lap, immediately shivering. "Look at you, you're freezing, Fedya. Get back in bed." You say, tossing the blanket back over his body and hugging onto his midsection before he lays back down.

"I was far from freezing." He murmurs. "But since you're so insistent, I guess I'll entertain your request this once." His voice is soft and quiet, the man already becoming drowsy again. You smile in accomplishment, rubbing his back with a grin. "Mhm, you should take a break from working anyway. You overwork yourself a lot." You whisper. He hums in response before replying. "Yes, I agree, but one day it'll be worth the while, my love. We'll be able to live the best life possible, I promise." He mumbles, his hair tickling your skin. You nod, twirling some of the strands around your finger. "But still...one day won't hurt, I promise." You quietly speak before the both of you fall asleep together, limbs entangled under the warm blanket; safe from the cold rainy weather on the outside.

A/n; me when I post ❤️💞😻💖 Anyways you guys life update I gotta take a full chapter of notes tonight because they're due tomorrow so thrilled u guys so thrilled

[thisisangiesworld]

Sparkling red

In which you fight against the fate of the Valkyries.

Cassian x sister!reader

Warnings : blood, death, injuries, mention of vomiting

Word count : 8,4k

Author note : Posting this for the last day of @cassianappreciationweek as it's what inspired me to finish and post it as my first ACOTAR writing!

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Present time - 

It was somewhat pretty. 

From where you were, you couldn’t see the sky. But you could picture its color; according to the reflections in the snow, the sun was slowly rising, a wonderful show of fire for whoever had the chance to watch. Maybe there were clouds too. You closed your eyes, and wooly forms danced behind your eyelids. A shallow breath, two, and you opened your eyes again. 

Moving your head was nearly impossible. It felt like a farrier was hitting your skull with a hammer. Almost as if the hits reverberated in your bones, shaking and irritating every single nerve of your body. And the cold had dug its claws in you, making you lose the feeling of your legs and your wings. No, you couldn’t move. But you really wanted to see the sky, and the branches above your head were blocking the view.

You had been staring at the snow for what felt like hours, and you still couldn’t understand what those things were. It was everywhere - dripping down the trunks of the trees, splattered over the snow, on your hand that was half buried in the wet coldness. 

The light soon became too bright, the snow too blinding, and you found yourself looking for the mysterious things. The sight of them was easier to bear, and you soon became accustomed to their soothing color. Red, brighter than the dawn, almost as dark as the wine Mor loved to drink. It reminded you of Cassian’s siphons. 

A color soft for the eyes, yes, but not really comforting, though. 

It held a threat, a menace, and the more you looked at the things, the more you knew it wasn’t supposed to be somewhat pretty or soothing. If your brain was cloudy, the feeling in your gut eventually became so strong that you moved. In spite of the pain in your limbs, you brought your arms closer to you, pushed with the palms of your hands on the frozen ground and, with groans that seemed to rip your throat apart, you stood on your feet. 

Your eyes took in all that they couldn’t see before; the sun, the clouds, the high branches with no leaves, standing around you like rusty weapons on a battlefield. 

A battlefield. 

That single word triggered something in you. A rush of adrenaline, a heartbeat so quick that  became chaotic, muscles tensed, on the verge of breaking. 

The soldier in you was back, and with it, the realization of what those things, this thing, was. 

Blood. 

___________

- Earlier -

War meant that your family was threatened, that much Cassian and you knew quite well. You were warriors, born and raised to be soldiers because a stubborn bastard and his stubborn sister weren’t worthy of anything else. Your family was probably the strongest in Prythian, each member being more dangerous than the last. Rhysand was the most powerful Fae that you had ever met, Azriel had the shadows for him and that unfaltering determination. Even Morrigan, who thankfully wasn’t fighting in this war, had that deep rooted instinct that made her someone you better not underestimate. 

And of course there was Tanwyn. If you had to describe her in a few words, you would say that Tanwyn was a Cassian made woman. That was probably why the two of them had gotten along so well since the beginning, and why they had fallen in love with each other. She was the leader of the Valkyries, these brave females from all Prythian who had decided that they were as worthy of their sword as males could be. You had always admired them, and you had the honor to have shared training with the warriors and to be considered as an honorary member of their group. 

It had helped you survive all the battles you had fought already in this damned war, and in this damned place that had become your home.

Your camp was in one of the only plains of the Winter Court. Through the years, it had become a small city, sometimes teeming with life, sometimes haunted by death. 

It was one of those days, where the screams and the dim of the weapons still resonated between the barracks. A freezing wind was blowing, and even though the tents were barely a comfort, few were willing to get out of them. As a result, Cassian and you felt like you were in a ghost town, alone to share some hours for the first time in almost a year. 

The first thing you had noticed was Cassian’s limp. He had tried to hide it from you of course, but you had seen right through it. Then your brother had called you out on the scar that was running on the side of your neck, and you were now sharing the few pieces of information you had about your family. 

“I’ve heard that Azriel can’t leave the High Lord’s side,”  grumbled Cassian. “Even Rhys has no word from him. From what I know he hasn’t even been on the battlefield in months.”

“That’s good news,” you answered. “Though I’m not sure his place is less dangerous than ours.”

“All I know is that he better have a good excuse for giving no word for years. I think I’ll beat his sorry ass for good measure, maybe to remind him of us once this is all over.”

You chuckled. 

“I’m pretty sure he hasn’t forgotten about us - about me at least. We all know I’m his favorite.”

“You’re everyone’s favorite, you little brat.”

You stuck your elbow playfully on your brother’s side. A silence settled - at the moment, you cursed yourself for not using every little second you had with Cassian to make sure he knew everything, that you wanted him safe, that you missed him, that you loved him. But sometimes, it was so overwhelming that you couldn’t find anything to say. 

It was a chance that you were passing by the camp-lord’s tent at that very moment, when he was in the heat of the conversation with what sounded like an envoy. 

“The Gollian Mountains?” Lord Olwahld exclaimed. “But- that’s the eastern part of the court!”

“I know my Lord, but that’s what the lady said.”

You stopped as something had struck a chord. Unlike what Olwahld seemed to believe, the Gollian Mountains weren’t that far from the camp, and if something happened out there, odds were that you would be sent to fight. 

“She said help is needed as soon as possible,” the man insisted. He almost had a pleading tone, and that made your blood freeze in your veins. “My Lord, your camp is the closest from the Mountains, and-”

“No.”

The Lord’s voice thundered, and even though he didn’t know what was happening, Cassian growled. The door-like fabric moved swiftly, and a boy that couldn’t be older than sixteen or seventeen appeared. His face was distorted with anger, and something that looked an awful lot like grief. He didn’t realize you and your brother were here until he almost knocked into you. 

“What’s happening, boy?” asked Cassian. “What news do you have from the Mountains?”

“Death is what is going to happen.” the boy answered darkly. “These females stand no chance against whatever army they’ll face. The Valkyries, they call themselves. After all it doesn’t matter, I’m not even sure there’ll be a single grave to write their name on.”

With that, he turned tails and disappeared between the tents. 

You didn’t remember having ever seen Cassian in such a state of shock. He was there, looking blankly in the void in front of him, his mouth still open as if he was ready to give an answer to the now gone young man. You could only imagine how his brain was working hard, trying to figure out how he could be of any help for Tanwyn - no, how Tanwyn could even be in such grave danger. You weren’t sure yourself of how great the danger was, actually. 

Some courts were actively supporting Hybern’s side; they were ready to do absolutely anything to keep the human race as slaves, even going as far as annihilating the courts ruled by High Lords sympathetic to the human cause. Spring and Autumn were known to unconditionally support for Hybern, and Dawn and Day’s implication in the war was blur. Anyways, strong rumors had circulated in your camps, and Rhysand had confirmed it last time you had seen him a few months ago: Clythia, one of Hybern’s officers, was suspected to be trying to join the Middle, where she could try to rally ancestral creatures to her cause. It was a dangerous bet, thoughtless even, but it could surely tip the balance. 

This was why the Winter court, though will-driven by neutrality since the beginning of the war, had recently agreed to let Illyrian camps be installed in their snowy territory. 

“What am I going to do?”

It was Cassian, and the barely audible tremor of his voice interrupted your train of thoughts. It almost sounded as if he was mourning Tanwyn already, as if he was already holding her lifeless body in his arms and was facing the consequences of a terrible loss. 

“We’re going to help them, Cassian. This is what we are going to do.”

With that, you grabbed your brother’s arm and pulled him forward, forcing him to follow your pace through half of the camp. Your first impulse would have been to barge in Lord Olwahld’s tent and demand soldiers to send to the Valkyries’ side. But the rational part of your mind knew that the Lord would never accept, not for the sake of a group of females and especially not if the little female bastard was the one formulating said demand. No, it would have only thrown away any chance of helping the Valkyries - you needed to think of something else. 

Cassian was silent, almost obediently walking behind you and with no doubts lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even react to the few whispers and whistles on their passage, when he would usually throw a few punches to make sure nothing bad was if only thought about his sister. The only sign that he was still in that head of his was the storm in his hazel eyes. 

By the time you got to your tent, you had already thought of some rudimentary plan. And you hoped that Cassian would come to his senses, because he would be the key to your success. 

“We don’t know much, but the one thing we can be sure of is that Tanwyn will need backup,” you started. It seemed to get Cassian out of his stupor, because he changed his slumped posture for an alert attitude. Your heart felt a bit lighter - your brother would be with you in this. “I think either Spring or Autumn have soldiers ready to take a pass in the mountains to get an easier access to the Middle. It’s only rumors, but it could explain why invading the Winter court when they have stayed out of this. As far as we know, the Valkyries are the only rampart against them.”

“They are about fifty,” Cassian spoke up. “The Gollian Mountains are a hell of a place, and at this period of the year there won’t be a lot of the passages that will be practicable. That leaves four, maybe five key positions that need to be defended. Plus at least two groups placed before and after every passage to make sure they can’t get past the mountains.” Cassian had come to the same conclusion as you. “We need soldiers.”

“We do.”

“Y/N, Olwahld wouldn’t even give us a sword, what makes you think he’ll give us soldiers?”

That was the hardest part of the plan. You knew perfectly that if it was you or Cassian formulating the demand, Olwahld would have you rotting in one of those rudimentary cells for a week before even considering alerting the higher officers, those who were in charge of the discipline in the camps. No, you needed someone else. Someone more important than you. 

The ideal would have been Rhysand’s father, of course. But that wasn’t possible; even though you were closer to him than anyone could think, the High Lord of the Night Court wouldn’t have put a soldier’s life on the line for what he would see as a lost cause. You needed someone who would act on his belief but who would be on your side. 

“We need Rhysand for this,” you said. “One of us needs to alert Rhys, and the other has to go to the Mountains as quickly as possible, because as far as we know, the Valkyries might-”

“I know.” Cassian cut you off with a stern voice. “But what you’re saying is that I will have to warn Rhys while you sneak off the camp to join Tan and the others. Am I right?”

“You are,” you confirmed. “I know you don’t like it,” you added as your brother was on the verge of protesting, “but we both know my word counts for nothing. My presence is only accepted because I’m what they call an easily replaceable sword, because if I’m killed, it means a male isn’t.” Cassian growled, the same reaction he had whenever he was confronted with the treatment his little sister suffered. “Cass, I know you don’t like it, but you know as well as I do that the only way we have to contact Rhys quickly is by sending an official message. Olwahld will simply refuse if I’m the one asking for it, but maybe if it’s you…”

Your voice died in your throat as you realized how fragile that plan was. 

“This looks an awful lot like a desperate attempt,” commented Cassian. “Y/N, do you really believe this is going to work?”

“What other option do we have?” you snapped. “The Valkyries are going to be facing an army on their own, Gods, they could be fighting right as we speak! Cassian, why does it look like you don’t care?”

That was a low blow, you knew it very well. But you had thought that your brother would knock out anyone willing to get between him and Tanwyn. Cassian had never been the voice of reason, definitely not when someone he loved was endangered. And Tanwyn… He loved her. You both loved her. You both cared deeply for her and the Valkyries, these amazing warriors you admired so much. You couldn’t comprehend why Cassian would let such a thing as doubt prevent him from doing what was right. 

Your last words had hurt him. He had looked down, almost ashamed for a second. Only now did you notice the way he was triturating his hands. You were used to seeing Rhys do this, but not Cassian. Never Cassian. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t have-”

“I care.” Cassian whispered. “I love her, I love her so much…” 

He stayed silent for a few seconds, and you waited. Of course he loved Tanwyn, obviously he cared, and you felt your cheeks burn with shame. Your brother had a reason for being so hesitant. He always had a reason. 

“But what you’re telling me is to let you leave for a fight you’ll likely lose. I just can’t do that, Y/N. I can’t.”

“But if I don’t go-”

“Only one more warrior, no matter how good they are, will not make any difference against an army.”

The voice of reason. 

“We don’t know when Rhys will be able to come,” you objected. “I know they are damned skilled, but I can’t imagine that fifty of them against what could be a whole army could end well. Cassian, I won’t make any difference, but- they need to know help is coming. I might not be able to change the outcome of the fight, but hope could do just that, don’t you think?”

Cassian stayed silent. You could almost see the twirling of his thoughts. Deep down, you hoped he would think of something else, maybe a solution you hadn’t considered yet that would be better than your extremely flawed plan. But when his shoulders dropped, you knew he hadn’t found anything. Your mind wandered and you imagined Cassian agreeing with you, you both parting ways, each gone for a mission you probably wouldn’t be able to fulfill. 

“You better be careful,” he simply said, “or you can be sure I’ll kick your sorry ass when you come back.”

As you discovered a few hours later, leaving an Illyrian war camp readying for another battle was surprisingly easy, especially for someone as insignificant as you. Following Cassian’s instructions, you had gone to the crowded infirmary and pretended to be looking for an injured friend of yours. When you had obviously found out that your friend wasn’t among the wounded, you had used the back door. The latter, which led to a kind of glade where the bodies of the fallen soldiers were left until they were burnt, was barely watched. All you had had to do was to wait until the guards’ attention decreased, and you had sneaked off in the woods. 

Just like Cassian, you couldn’t winnow to the Mountains. Usually, your wings were more than enough and you prided yourself in being able to fly quite fast. But, no matter how fast you were, it was still a few hours long flight to get to the Gollian Mountains. All that you could hope was that the enemy would wait until the next day to attack. Given how capricious the weather could be in that part of Prythian, it wasn’t impossible. 

If everything went as you hoped, Rhys would be aware of the situation by the time you joined the Valkyries. He would follow Cassian back to the camp immediately, order Olwahld to send soldiers and a few hours later, the help your friends needed would be there. 

However, you weren’t an optimistic person, and it was hard to keep hoping everything would go as you so desperately wanted. 

___

The sky was bathed in a soft orange when you finally identified the rugged ridges of the Gollian Mountains. You had been flying close to the ground for almost an hour; you hadn’t wanted to risk being seen by eventual enemies, and the air streams were stronger higher in the sky. The muscles of your whole body were burning - you hadn’t been able to fly for that long in ages. It felt good. 

The roaring of the wind covered the sound of the snow crunching under your feet when you finally landed on the Mountains. You folded your wings tightly and drew your sword, even though you couldn’t see anything alarming. No sign of battle, no sign of the Valkyries. Only the storm was disturbing the peacefulness of the place. 

“It’s been a while, little one.”

It took all of your remaining strength not to jump at the voice that was coming from behind, saving yourself from the humiliation of having been surprised that easily. 

“One could have thought you too old to play hide and seek, Tan.”

Tanwyn chuckled, and took the dozen steps that were still separating her from you. The Valkyrie’s hand was resting nonchalantly on the pommel of her sword, and as far as you could see, she seemed to be unharmed. 

“Did anything happen to Cassian?” she enquired, her voice laced with worry. You hurriedly shook your head. “Then is it possible that my plea for help has been heard?” she asked before you could add anything, to which you nodded. “Good, because my situation is desperate.”

“How could it be? Aren’t you with the Valkyries?”

“I am, but it’s a dozen sailboats that are coming at the very least, we’re not enough,” she sighed. Her eyes were lost somewhere behind you. Only now did you realize how exhausted Tanwyn looked. “All the remaining Valkyries are here, the twenty-six of us. But among them are our youngest recruits and- I can’t let them fight. Eveana is barely sixteen! I won't have those kids’ blood on my hands,” she added after another sight. 

Your blood froze in your veins. Twenty-six. You didn’t dare to ask why half of the Valkyries were missing.

Tanwyn’s eyes were dark, clouded by what looked an awfully lot like fear. They didn’t lighten up when you explained your plan, not even when you mentioned that Cassian would most probably join you to fight with Rhys’ soldiers. She wasn’t even arboring her usual smirk, the one that gave her this permanently cocky expression Cassian loved so much. You had never seen her so unlike herself - so defeated. 

“They know things aren’t looking good.” Tanwyn turned tails, and nodded in the direction of a snowed grove below. You followed her, swallowing the thousand questions that were  burning your throat. “I’ve told the youngest I wanted them back to the Day court. I have an agreement with Kiheera’s parents, they’ll take them in if they protect the domain. They all refuse to leave.” 

“How many are they?”

“Four. Eveana and Melody are promising, but they don’t even have the ribbon yet. Kiheera and Attala have had theirs for barely three months. But none of them really know what war is, and they don't understand that it would be a suicide to stay with us. If your soldiers don’t arrive soon…”

As Tanwyn was telling you more about the conflict between the youngest recruits and herself along with the desperate situation they were in, she guided you through the trees. Eventually, the camp appeared in front of you; it was barely a cluster of tents, probably not efficient against the icy wind but invisible from the sky and, as you would bet, from the valley below. 

The very few Valkyries that you could see were wrapped up in thick furs; one of them, that you had never seen before, brought Tanwyn her cloak. The girl had the dark skin of the Day court, and you wondered if it was Kiheera. Tanwyn confirmed silently. 

Then the both of you crossed the camp and reached a slightly off-centered tent. 

“I haven’t thanked you yet for coming here,” said Tanwyn as she followed you inside. “I’m afraid of the outcome of this for all of us, but it truly means a lot that you came.”

“You know I would never let you down.”

“I know. This is why I’ve promised you that a white ribbon would always be waiting for you.”

You often wondered why you had declined her offer all those years ago. It was just after the Blood Rite, that you had completed with Cassian, Azriel and Rhysand despite the strict interdiction you had received. It had earned you a punishment that the Night Court’s High Lord had tried his best to lessen; even though being forced to leave Windhaven and your brothers for a year had felt like a trip in hell. It was pure chance that the Valkyries had found you in the last couple months of your exile, and the training you had received had been your anchor when you had gotten back to the Illyrian camp. Before you had left, Tanwyn had handed you the ribbon; and it was still in her hand when you had given her your back and had started your journey to join your brothers. 

A silence followed her statement. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet,” murmured Tanwyn. 

You knew very well what she was talking about, but you still raised the question, feeling like she needed it to give you the answer. 

“Tanwyn, what happened?” 

“Hybern happened. Did you know that Amarantha and Clythia have brought their army? We found out but… No one came to help,” she muttered. Her face was veiled, her teeth gritted. “I- I realized too late that it was a trap. I led twenty-five Valkyries to their death.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, and you did your best to keep a hold on yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask who. You clenched your jaw, your fists, everything to help you overcome the wave of grief that was hitting you. You kept repeating to yourself that Tanwyn needed you, that now wasn’t the time or place to grieve. 

“I don’t understand why they still follow me,” she continued with a quieter voice. “Why the youngest left the camp in Day to join us here, why they keep placing their faith in me when I’ve failed them so badly.”

“Because they know that what happened wasn’t your fault,” you answered. “Because they remember all the victories you have offered them, all the times you’d have given your life for theirs.”

“But they are dead!” she exclaimed, and her voice broke.

She looked down, her shoulders slumped and hands shaking. You slowly got closer; you didn’t want her to retreat, as if she were a wounded animal that you were trying to approach. Eventually, you grabbed her forearm and she allowed you to pull her against you. You hugged her, squeezing your arms around her waist and allowing her to grieve in the comfort of a friend’s embrace. She didn’t shed a tear - after all, it was Tanwyn, and Tanwyn never cried. She just let you provide some comfort, perfectly still until you asked the question that was bothering you. 

“Why didn’t you tell us? Cassian or I, I mean.”

Tanwyn slipped out of your arms and gave you her back, probably in order to get a hold her herself before replying with a steady voice:

“Because it happened too quickly. And then… I didn’t want to worry any of you, not when you are continuously throwed in those bloody battles.”

You nodded, not wanting to scold her when she seemed to be in such a complex and torturous state of mind. Instead, you waited until she spoke up again. 

“I didn’t even ask you - how is Cassian? We haven’t been able to communicate in a while and- well, I know he’s alive, and if something bad had happened to him you’d have told me earlier, but still…”

“He’s okay, as much as he can be with that war going on. He’s been hurt a few days ago- nothing too bad, don’t worry!” you said when Tanwyn’s eyes widened. “A nasty thrust on his leg, it earned him a temporary limp and a few days of leave. He’s arrived at my camp early this morning.”

“And he still wants to fight?”

Tanwyn’s reaction took you aback. 

“Well, you know as well as I do that there’s no stopping him,” you mumbled. 

She rolled her eyes, but there was a ghost of a soft smile on her face.

“That imbecile.”

A loud call for Tanwyn echoed suddenly somewhere in the camp. The piece of fabric that served as a door opened brutally and a familiar face appeared. You’d recognize those vibrant green eyes and the crown of fiery hair anywhere - Idril, Tanwyn’s second. She was the one who had found you near their camp and dragged you to the rest of the Valkyries. If she had been reluctant to your presence at the beginning, she had become one of your closest friends in the group, and your favorite hand-to-hand fight partner. 

For a second, Idril seemed to hesitate between acknowledging your presence, which was visibly a good surprise as her eyes were almost sparkling, and the pressing news she undoubtedly had to give to Tanwyn. But she settled for a nod in your direction before urging Tanwyn and you to follow her outside. 

The three of you joined the group formed by all the Valkyries gathered around a fire. The flames seemed brighter than ever in the snowy mountains now plunged into the darkness of the night. You noticed that everyone was armed, as if the fight was imminent. A wave of panic crashed into you, almost making you stumble and stealing your breath. If Hybern’s soldiers were here already… There was no way the twenty-seven of you would repel hundreds of men, even if you had home advantage. Your mind wandered to Cassian and his own mission. You had refrained yourself from thinking of what would happen if he couldn’t contact Rhys, pushing all of your worries behind thick barriers and focusing on your next step. But the outcome of this desperate attempt would be known sooner than you’d like, and you couldn’t keep hiding from reality. 

Even when your trust in your future was slowly crumbling, you still managed to keep an ear in the conversation that was conducted next to you. From what you had gathered, one of the two sentinels that were keeping an eye on the northern part of the pass had come back a few minutes ago, announcing that five boats displaying sails in Hybern colors were following the coast toward the small beach. According to Idril, disembarking the soldiers and having them trudge in the snow and across the forest to reach the pass wouldn’t take more than three hours. 

There was no sign of an Illyrian detachment coming to help. 

You glanced at Tanwyn, who was giving orders. 

The battle was for soon. 

___

You could hear Eveana’s heavy breath somewhere on your left. When you glanced at her, you noticed that she was trembling, and even in the dim light of the full moon you could see her white knuckles gripping her spear tightly. No breathing exercise could help her overcome the terror that was creeping up her spine; just like you knew it couldn’t help you either. On your right, Ylva, the only Illyrian female of the Valkyries, was crouched down, her sword laid on the snow and her lips moving silently. You had never gotten along well with Ylva, and if she had never told you why she didn’t want to have to deal with you, you knew that odds were that she envied you for having kept your wings intact. She hadn’t been given the same chance. Now, in the dead of the night, you felt closer to her. The last member of your little group was Tanwyn herself. She had refused to let Eveana or you out of her sight, the first because she wanted to be able to send her away if things went south and you… Probably for the same reason. 

You were on the front line, even though it was far from being like the one you were used to. Tanwyn and Idril had agreed with the plan Cassian had enunciated what felt like years ago : only four passages connecting the beach and the pass were usable, and each of them was defended by a group of four. The remaining Valkyries were after the pass, meant to be the last rampart between Prythian and Hybern. 

You were terrified - that was the least you could say. It was unlike any other battle you had fought, unlike any training you ever had. You couldn’t stay as still as Tanwyn, your breath was caught in your throat, your hands didn’t even respond to you and you couldn’t keep a good grip on your sword. Suddenly, there were so many things that you regretted - not saying goodbye to Cassian, not giving him a message for Azriel, Mor, Rhys and his family. You had never properly thanked Cassian for all his sacrifices, for all those years he had fought alone against the world to make sure you had food and clothes. You never had the chance to mourn the fallen Valkyries, you had never told Tanwyn how important she was to you, how you knew that Cassian and her were made for each other. 

If you wanted a chance to do it, you’d have to fight your way to the sunrise. 

Positioned like this, four against the Mother knew how many soldiers, you could only pray that Cassian and Rhysand would come to your rescue. 

They never came. 

___________

- Present time -

The realization hit you and brought your knees back to the ground. You were surrounded by blood, crimson rivers that were shining under the sun and contrasting violently with the snow. A disgustingly sweet and metallic smell was brought to your nostrils in waves carried by the wind. It was overwhelming and, soon enough, you found yourself unable to even think past this abominable scent. It made you sick, made you desperate to expel all the air of this universe so that you would stop being surrounded by this atrocity. It turned your stomach and you whimpered as you emptied its meager content on the snow. Tears were burning your eyes and you got on your feet again, almost thankful for the putrid smell that was now covering the scent of the blood.

Looking around, all you could see was an abandoned shield near a tree. You didn’t recognize the place - even though you were unable to recall any memory of the battle, you still had in mind a vivid picture of your waiting in the dark before the beginning of the fight, and you were then surrounded by many more trees than this. 

Slowly, you made your way to the shield to grab it. You were unable to lift your left wing and left it dragging on the snow. You looked around once more - and immediately regretted it. 

You felt sick again. You couldn’t miss them. Bodies lying on the ground, some half buried under the snow, some awfully mutilated. Your eyes stopped on the fragile frame of the girl Tanwyn had wanted safe, away from this butchery. Eveana, from her sixteen years of life,  had fought this battle and had died spear in hand. 

You found Tanwyn only a few meters away from Eveana. Her skin was cold, covered with the blood of so many soldiers that her scent had disappeared. You fell to your knees and cradled her body against you. 

Her head resting against your shoulder, her hand crushed in yours, you cried all the tears you had left and all the tears she had never shed. 

You cried for your friend, for Cassian’s lover, for the warrior and for the woman who had believed in you. 

You cried for that fucking ribbon that you had declined, for the day you had chosen to leave her to go back to your own family. 

You cried for all the following visits to the Valkyries, for all these times that had brought you closer and closer to Tanwyn. 

You cried in hope to expel all the pain she had accumulated in her life; because you couldn’t imagine a world without her, because the Valkyries would mourn her forever. 

You cried until you had no tears and no voice left, until your heart was numb and its broken pieces buried in this cursed snow. 

And when you stopped crying, you carefully untied the white ribbon that was still adorning Tanwyn’s forehead. Using your sword, you cut the piece of fabric in two, stuffed a part in your leathers and tied the other to the pommel of the blade she was still gripping. You laid her body delicately on the ground and crawled away, unable to bear the weight of the loss, until your arms gave up on you and you fell face first in the snow. 

You closed your eyes. 

___________

His blood was boiling. 

Cassian wasn’t even feeling stupid for that mistake that put him in this miserable cell. No, his clouded mind was wholly focused on how he had been unable to help his sister and his lover, how both were risking their lives and counting on him. And he? He was rotting behind those bars because he couldn’t control his own fucking tongue. 

Olwahld had listened to him. He had agreed to let him leave the camp to alert Rhys of that dangerous threat and, may the Mother be his witness, Cassian had believed that the Lord wasn’t such a bastard as he had first thought. He had felt like he could finally breathe - he would soon join you, join Tanwyn and the Valkyries, and you would all fight side to side. 

Then it had slipped out of his mouth - the Valkyries. Olwahld, when he had realized what it was all about, had erupted in rage before sending Cassian in this damned cell. 

It had been days. 

Rumors went fast in the camps, especially when it concerned Prythian and the war. And he had heard the most terrifying ones: some said that Hybern armies had invaded the eastern part of the Winter Court, that the scout sailboats had wiped out all resistance to make the path clear for the thousand of following ones. 

He didn’t know what the truth was, and it was driving him crazy. 

He had tried everything. Negotiation - hours of pleas and propositions of punishment in compensation for any problem him contacting Rhys could cause had been lost in the night. When he had realized it was pointless, he had tried corruption - he had promised luxurious rewards from the High Lord himself for the help of anyone willing to let him out of his cell. He had been met with laughs, and the few curious Illyrians had been put on burning duty, a nice word to say that the mounds of dead bodies were getting too big and needed to be reduced to ashes. Corruption wasn’t the solution, so he decided to try something that was more like him -  destruction. He had screamed, let his rage ignite his veins and unleashed all he had left on those damned bars. 

All he had gained was bruised fists and a stake made of ash wood wedged in his shoulder, which might have been another reason for his boiling blood.

But on the morning of the eighth day in that cell, he woke up from his agitated sleep with a strong feeling in his guts. It was as if the Cauldron had spilled its burning content in his stomach; he knew that something would happen soon with such certainty that it physically hurt to wait for it. 

He waited for hours, and nothing happened. 

He waited for so long that he started to wonder if his feverish state wasn’t playing tricks on his mind - it had worsened considerably the previous days, up to the point that his vision was almost permanently blurry and his skin hot enough to heat all the cells adjacent to his.

And then, suddenly, it happened. 

It started with an unusual noise outside - on the other side of the jail, that the little opening in the wall didn’t allow him to see. It sounded like half of the Illyrians of the camp were having a heated argument, though Cassian couldn’t hear any sound indicating anyone had come to blows. The growing turmoil abruptly stopped - at this moment, a few Illyrians ran past his cell toward what had caught Cassian’s attention. 

Someone roared virulent insults, and Cassian’s heart leaped in his ribcage. 

It was Rhysand. 

___

Less than an hour later, the door of his cell swiftly opened, but it wasn’t his brother who was standing in the opening. Lord Olwahld looked down at him with a carefully neutral face, and the struggle to stay cordial to a bastard he despised had his voice laced with disgust. 

“Lord Rhysand has brought to my attention that you shouldn’t be locked up in this cell,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “He asked me to offer my full apologies to you, and to lead you to his tent.” 

Cassian jumped on his feet - and stumbled miserably when dizziness hit him. However, no matter how bad he felt, he wouldn’t give Olwahld the pleasure to have him asking for help - so he squared his jaw and followed the Lord. 

The first thing he noticed was the total absence of people in front of Rhys’ tent. Then, when Olwahld opened the door of the tent for Cassian to enter, the smell hit him and almost brought him to his knees. It was blood. 

Fearing for his brother’s life, his heart racing disorderly, Cassian rushed inside. He was met with a seemingly furious Rhysand, and above all a Rhysand who was walking on his two feet. 

“Rhys-”

He wanted to ask what the hell was going on, but there were so many things happening all at once in that tent that his dizzy brain couldn’t process it all. First, Rhys. Then he realized that the bright yellow spot behind his brother was attached to the body of a female he knew all too well - he wanted to ask what could have brought Mor here, but then the horde of healers, among which he recognized Madja - who was supposed to be with the High Lord - interrupted his disordered thoughts. He barely noticed the envoy who had begged for help what felt like centuries ago - the young man was standing in a corner of the tent.

Cassian stuttered words even he didn’t understand, but his voice died in his throat when Rhys engulfed him in a strong embrace. It felt like they hadn’t seen each other in centuries. 

“He didn’t tell me- this Olwahld bastard is going to pay,” growled Rhysand. “For you and for Y/N.”

Your name rang a bell in Cassian’s sick mind - and this time, even though it tore his throat apart, he managed to articulate a comprehensible question. 

“What happened to her?”

Rhys’ breath seemed to get suddenly caught in his throat, and he looked away from Cassian. He looked away, that was something that Cassian had never seen and it terrified him. 

Rhys took a step aside, and Cassian made a shattered noise. 

You were barely recognizable. The healers gathered around your unconscious body were hiding most of your injuries, but Cassian could see your face - bruised, gaunt, devastatingly broken. 

The sight brought him to his knees. 

Rhys took a step, but Mor emerged from the group of healers and rushed to his side. Gently, silently, as if he were a wounded animal, she approached her hands from his arm and helped him up, not faltering once under his weight. 

Cassian didn’t realize that the silent exchange between Rhys and his cousin was about him; he only reacted when Mor pulled him to the exit of the tent, which made him tear his eyes off your broken frame. 

“No- no!” 

He tried to fight, but, weakened as he was with the fever and his own wound, Mor had no trouble forcing him to follow her to another tent. 

His mind was grappling with the last image it had of you. Hurt, unconscious, suffering, alone. He didn’t want to know what it meant for Tanwyn, for the Valkyries; he didn’t even want to think of the possibility of losing you. 

Falling unconscious felt like a benediction from the Cauldron itself.

___

When he woke up again, the camp was plunged into the dark. A fire was bathing the inside of the tent in a comforting light, and it warmed the air enough for him to remain shirtless without being cold. 

The fever was gone, and so was the dull pain in his shoulder he had almost gotten used to. 

He closed his eyes again, and the image of your unconscious body appeared in his mind. The sight sent a jolt of electricity in his body, and he jumped on his feet. No faltering came to bother him, and he promptly left the tent, rushing to go back to where he had seen you… When was it? A few hours ago? A few days? 

When he finally reached the tent and rushed in, he wasn’t expecting the peaceful atmosphere. You were still unconscious, still gaunt and pale and bruised, but there was no blood anymore. Your hair was clean, the bandages he could see were pristine white, your features seemed more relaxed than the last time he had seen you. 

There were no healers anymore, only Mor and Rhys, both snuggled against each other on the floor at the foot of your bed. Mor was sleeping soundly, but Rhys’ eyes were staring at Cassian full of worry for him, as the latter realized when his brother spoke up. 

“Are you feeling better?” Cassian nodded, his own gaze fixed on you. “Then take the chair, the sun will only be up in a few hours.” 

Indeed, a single chair had been placed next to your bed, as if someone knew that Cassian wouldn’t leave your side ever again. Knowing fully well who had had that attention, the latter felt a knot forming in his throat. He couldn’t even speak, even though he wanted to know what the bloody hell was happening. 

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow, brother,” murmured Rhysand. “It will be a long day. You should rest.”

Cassian nodded again and sat, wincing when his rigid muscles reminded him of the last few days. When he realized that he was still shirtless, he grabbed a blanket that was still folded on your bed and wrapped himself in it, getting ready for an unknown amount of time without sleeping. 

He wouldn’t close an eye before you woke up. 

___

No one had expected that you would come back to consciousness so quickly. Despite all his resolutions, Cassian had dozed off at some point and he jolted awake at the soft noise of crumpling fabric just next to him. 

“Y/N!” he shouted when his eyes found yours open. “Oh, thank Gods you’re awake, Y/N- Gods!” 

And with all the restraint he could manage, all the delicacy he knew you needed, he pulled you to his chest and broke down when your arms wrapped around him. He broke down like a kid and sobbed loudly, his face hidden in your neck to smell your scent. He was completely oblivious to Mor and Rhys’ presence. The rest of Prythian could have been burning, he didn’t care. 

He had almost lost you, his little sister, the only being in this damn world who shared his blood. He had agreed to that reckless plan, had let you leave on your own, then he had failed you and you had come back injured, almost dead. 

Cassian felt a hand on his shoulder, and then Rhys was hugging you both, and Mor joined him. 

You all stayed like this for what felt like hours. 

You didn’t say a word, and fell asleep again soon after Cassian let you go. 

___________

You had been awake for some time, but you hadn’t opened your eyes yet. 

You remembered little from the previous days - you truly had no idea of how you had come back to that camp. You didn’t know why or how Rhys and Mor, whose scents were mixed with Cassian’s and impregnating everything around you, had come over here. 

All you could remember was the little piece of fabric you had hidden in the leathers you were still wearing, the magnificent fire you had lighted for the Valkyries, two silhouettes disappearing in the night. You had a faint memory of Cassian’s voice in your ear, of his sobs that had wrecked your already damaged heart. 

And now, the tent and your family around you. 

You would have so many things to tell them, and yet you had so little restraint on the grief that was striking you…

Calloused fingers brushed against your forehead, stopping all of sudden your train of thoughts. You opened your eyes. Cassian was sitting next to you, his hand still close to your face, his gaze fixed on you. His frown lessened and he even managed a weak smile. 

“You scared me,” he croaked out. 

In his bloodshot eyes, you could see all that he didn’t tell you. All that he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead, he helped you sit and only murmured soothing words when you winced in pain. 

“Why-”, you tried to ask, but a coughing fit that burned your entire being interrupted you. 

Cassian’s hand only left your back when your breathing stabilized. 

“I believe it will be better to wait to have this conversation,” said a voice that you hadn’t heard in months. 

Rhys had indeed stepped into the tent, and was holding the fabric for Mor to follow him. The latter rushed to your side and engulfed you in a hug. Rhys had stopped next to Cassian, but he was smiling warmly in your direction. 

You knew what they were trying to do; whether it was Mor with her sweet words or Rhys with this smile that didn’t reach his eyes, they were desperately trying to break the lingering tension around you. Cassian obviously couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and it was more than understandable - he knew. 

Of course he knew, and nothing would ever be the same again. 

You felt a soft brush against your mental shields, and opened a tiny door for Rhys to whisper in your mind. 

I found you among the bodies. I know how it ended, but not how it happened. Do you want to show me?

He didn’t elaborate - he didn’t need to. It was a kind proposition, one made for you to avoid all the suffering that would be brought by the necessity to tell them what happened in the mountains. You wanted to accept, even though you felt like it would make you a coward. 

But you realized something that made you change your mind and refuse Rhys’ offer: those two silhouettes that you remembered, you knew you would never see them again. No one would. 

And it made you the only person able to pass on the Valkyries’ legacy like they deserved. 

So, one day, you would tell them. 

You knew that you would eventually remember it all - your nightmares would be plagued with scenes of the horror you had endured in the Mountains. You would never forget the crimson rivers in the snow, the weapons stuck in the frozen ground, the dozen corpses surrounding you. The putrid smell of the funeral pyre would stay engraved in your mind, just like your muscles would always feel the weight of Tanwyn’s lifeless body in your arms. The sharp guilt would keep twisting your insided every time you would picture the silhouette of the two Valkyries that had left after the pyre was lit up. You didn’t even know their name. 

One day, you promised yourself, you would tell them. 

But, as cowardly as it probably made you look, you were unable to tell them now. 

You didn’t dare to look at your family. In your mind, Rhys whispered that they understood - they all knew how painful the wounds left to the survivors could be. 

Still, there was one thing you had to do. 

A sharp pain shot through your arm as you slipped your hand under your blanket. You searched through your leather for a second, and met Cassian’s gaze as you handed him the ribbon.